


The Way The World Ends

by whalehuntingboyfriends



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Angst, COMPLETE FOR NOW but I'm gonna add the 'sequel' onto the same story, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Walking Dead AU, a lot of other characters are in it but they're not tagged for spoiler reasons, and very slow build character development, no knowledge of walking dead necessary to understand the fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-22
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2019-03-22 13:37:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 105,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13765281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whalehuntingboyfriends/pseuds/whalehuntingboyfriends
Summary: After a mysterious disease decimates most of the population - and then brings them back as monsters - the survivors struggle not only to stay alive but to figure out what sort of society they should rebuild.Alone since before the apocalypse, Michael’s method of self-preservation involves not looking out for anyone but himself and his own. Gavin, on the other hand, is determined not to let this new world stop him from doing the right thing. When their worldviews clash, they may hate each other - but working together is the only way to survive.(Walking Dead AU where each chapter functions as an individual ‘episode.’)





	1. 1x01: Dead Meat

**Author's Note:**

> **C/W: Character death, zombie-related violence and gore, suicide/suicidal thoughts, panic attacks, alcoholism.**
> 
>  
> 
> In order to recreate the same tension of the Walking Dead show/games, I’ve taken an ‘anyone can die’ approach, so characters _will_ be killed off throughout the course of the fic.
> 
> Some characterisations/plotlines are based on characters and plots from the show, but the only thing you really need to know about the Walking Dead is that it takes place in a world where zombies don’t exist in pop culture - no shows, games etc about them. So when the apocalypse happens, no one has any idea what they are. 
> 
> \---
> 
>  
> 
> **As this is partially based on the Telltale Walking Dead Game, at various points in the fic characters will face moral conflicts. There’s a poll linked on those parts of the story and I’d love for readers to participate by pausing as you read and voting on which choice you would make! If the embedded link doesn't work, here it is manually:<http://www.strawpoll.me/15126230>**
> 
>  
> 
> **Your choice won’t affect the course of the fic so feel free to scroll past them; it’s just to make the fic more interactive and fun <3**

A cold, dark night. Nearly winter. The tent had crevices that little biting drafts were getting into, but under the fleece blankets the lingering warmth of two bodies remained.

“This was a mistake,” one of the young men said, and scrambled from the nest of bedding. He turned away, reaching for a discarded jumper on the floor nearby. 

“Hey,” the other man replied. A sweaty lock of dark hair hung over his forehead, a bottle of wine was cradled next to him. Beside him, a lit candle flickered in the wind. “Don’t be like that, Gavin.”  
  
“Like what?”  
  
The man’s hand reached out and traced the too-prominent knobs of Gavin’s spine. Gavin froze, halfway through pulling the jumper over his head.

“All scared that I saw your secrets. It doesn’t matter to me. Doesn’t change a damn thing.”  
  
“It’s not that. We shouldn’t get involved like this. Not now.” A shaky breath. Gavin pulled his jumper on and yanked his pants up, reaching for a pair of scuffed boots nearby. “It doesn’t mean anything.”  
  
“I know it doesn’t.”  
  
“It’s not gonna happen again.”  
  
Silence, now. The man lounged back in the blankets, watching Gavin get dressed. Something raw and ugly about all this; the acrid smell of spilled wine on the blankets, the dark shadow of a bloodstain on one of the tent walls. The itchy layer of dirt that seemed to cover everything.

“I have questions, though,” he said finally. “Why’d you do it?”

Gavin paused where he’d been tying his shoelaces, head dropping down against his chest.

“Oh, God,” he groaned. “Fuck off.”  
  
“I’m just _curious!_ ” 

“Does it matter?” He yanked the last knot tight, stood up. Grabbed a bag from the corner, then a scarf.

“Why keep going now?” the man asked. Dark, cowish eyes tracked Gavin as he headed for the tent door. “I’d think now is a better time than any to get off this stupid crazy ride. So why stick around?”  
  
“It was a long time ago,” Gavin replied, stiffly, “And you’re an asshole.” 

He looped the scarf around his neck and reached for the tent flap.

“Oh, come on-”  
  
“This can’t happen again,” Gavin repeated, pausing for a moment in the doorway, bag slung over his shoulder. “I need to go on this run. Tell the others I’ll be back tomorrow night.”  
  
The man sat up in the pool of blankets as he swept out, the tent flap swinging shut behind him.

“Chin up, Gav!” His breath a cold, white mist as he called after him, bright and almost mocking. “You’re doing fine!”

No reply. Undeterred, he slumped back against the pillows, picking lazily at the blankets, and watched Gavin’s shadow pass by the side of the tent. A drunken laugh bubbled from his chest.

“You’re doing fine,” he repeated, “The end of the world is a new beginning…”

-

-

-

**1x01: DEAD MEAT**

Sixty-three days after the world officially ended, Michael Jones walked up the crest of the last hill before Achievement City and lifted the walkie-talkie to his ear.

"Well, I made it to AC. You there? Over."

Nothing but dead-air-crackle in his ear, sinking sun, empty road. Cars abandoned like litter along the highway. The silhouette of the city loomed ahead. He stood, a ragged figure with clothes nearly worn through, beard a patchy, straggly mass of curls, sticky with sweat and grime, and _waited._

A flare of static. Then that familiar, rasping voice.

"Hey. Thought you might be dead, I didn't hear from you in so long."

"That last stretch was rough, dude. So many fucking biters. More than I could take out." An absent touch to the knife at his belt. "Had to hide in a tree for twenty fucking minutes before I could get past ‘em."

"I still think this is a bad idea. You said you hadn't been in a city since the start of all this. There's a reason survivors have been staying away from them."

Michael shrugged, his eyes still fixed on the dark shapes of the buildings.

"I don't have much choice. I haven't eaten in three days. There's nothing out here, just fucking forest. If I had another choice, I'd take it."

Silence from the other end of the line. 

"Yeah, well - just be careful, alright? And whatever you do, if you come across a group..."

He trailed off, and Michael swallowed hard, thinking of long nights huddled over his meagre campfire, walkie-talkie clutched to his ear, the disembodied voice the only thing carrying him through the night. Sharing story after story about before, about after.

He hadn't been with a group these last two months. But the stories he'd heard about some of the shit that went down as it became apparent that the government wasn't gonna fix this up, hell, that there wasn't even a government anymore... It was every man for himself out here and part of him was almost relieved. That was what he knew - what he was _good_ at.

"I know," he replied. "Don't trust anybody."

"Exactly," the voice said grimly. 

A long silence. Michael's heart was pounding; after weeks wandering alone through the forest with nothing but the dead, just the sight of the city was enough to give him the jitters.

"So what's next for you, then?" he asked finally.

"Suburbs are still good pickings. I'm sticking to the roofs, picking off the dead here one by one. I'll be fine."

"Right. I'll talk to you later, then." They always said that. _Talk to you later_. Operating under the assumption that some stranger miles away would somehow survive. Call him superstitious but it'd become a ritual by now, something he felt like he had to say just to make it happen. "I still can't know your name?"

A scoffed laugh.

"Fucking stranger danger, dude."

"It's the end of the fucking world."

"Trust no one, remember?" A teasing note in it. "Besides, I gotta keep up my aura of mystery."

"You're travelling by rooftop and killing biters from a distance. You're already a mysterious badass," Michael protested, but a smile tugged at his lips. "At least your last name. Come on."

A pause so long that for a moment he thought his stranger might've left. Then, a shaky breath.

"Fine. Brown."

"You're kidding," Michael said flatly, "That's the most fucking generic last name ever."

"What's yours, then?"

"Jones," Michael admitted, and heard a snort, then that croaking chuckle, a laugh he'd grown to know so well over the last few weeks. A laugh that kept him smiling too, now.

"You're taking the fucking piss."

"No, I'm serious. It actually is Jones."

"Right. The _other_ most generic name in the universe. I don't believe you."

"I'm actually not joking."

"Right." Brown's voice dripped with disbelief. "Okay then, 'Jones,' I'll leave you to your suicide mission. Please don't actually die, though. I was a loner before this shit happened, I don't need to be one after as well."

"Let me guess, you only had online friends."

"Yeah, and nothing's changed since the apocalypse happened," Brown joked. "I'm serious, be careful, alright? Talk to you later."

"Bye," Michael whispered, and put the walkie-talkie back in his belt. For a moment, he closed his eyes and imagined Brown doing the same thing on the other end of the line; a formless, anonymous figure. Nothing but a voice. Michael didn't even know where the other man fucking was; they'd encountered each other's wavelength purely by accident and Brown had been so traumatised by his last group that he wouldn't give Michael shit on his location. Sometimes he fantasised about them running into each other by accident - recognising one another's voices, teaming up. He could do with a friendly face, even if he had no clue what it looked like. 

It was stupid. Part of what made things with Brown so easy was that they _weren’t_ together in person - he didn’t have to worry about what the other man thought of him. Didn’t have to actually look him in the eye and _connect_.

_Better this way._

He heaved a deep breath, staring down at the lonely road ahead. With winter on the way, the days were growing shorter and shorter. Just another reason it was so important to find more supplies. His stomach growled, and he pulled out his knife and gathered himself.

_You can do this. You need to do this_. _Stick to the buildings. Don’t get cocky. Get what you need and get out._

\---

The city was just as big a shit hole as Brown had said it was.

Maybe Michael would’ve been ashamed once, to find himself squatting in the ruined remains of a pet shop desperately stuffing his face with dog food, pausing now and then to try not to puke, but he was far past caring. Who was there to judge him? 

_God?_ There was a laugh. Fuck God if he was sitting back watching all this happen like it was fucking primetime television, some sort of HBO shit. 

And fuck God even more if he’d sent it down like some people claimed - like that shit with Moses and all those plagues and stuff. (All Michael’s biblical knowledge came from _The Prince of Egypt_ and the only thing he really remembered was that one really banging song. _Thus saith the Lord,_ fucking classic).

Most shops in this area were ransacked. He figured everything else further in was too hard for survivors to get to. His next stop, a corner shop, brought him a smashed vending machine and a single packet of chips. He was rummaging through the counter when a shiver ran down his spine, and he froze.

_Something’s wrong_.

He stilled, listening, but it was the same old dead silence outside. Nothing new there, just - a faint shuffling in the distance, or he thought it might be, and a smell like the dead. But something in the air seemed to have shifted.

It’d been a while since Michael felt so alone. His heart pounding, he crept to the door and looked out.

For a moment everything seemed as usual - empty street, wind sweeping the occasional piece of trash down the road. Then he looked towards the intersection, and his spine stiffened.

_Biters_. They were coming around the corner; a handful of swaying figures, with that particular sickening, loping stride. It just seemed like a few stragglers, but in the sinking light it was hard to tell.

“Fuck,” Michael whispered.

 _Got to get inside, or get high up - wait this out until morning_. That was how he’d survived so far; he’d killed his share of them but the smartest thing was to pick your battles. He’d find a building, get up high and out of the way - or that was his plan, at least, until he turned and saw a bottle shop on the other side of the road.

He froze.

“Fuck,” he whispered again, and bit his lip, ignoring the desperate craving that welled deep in his chest and seemed to spread out along every limb until he clenched his fists desperately, digging his nails into his palms. How long had it been since he had a drink? 

_It's not worth it._

He didn’t have time and they were coming down the road now, a trail of stumbling figures. The front window of the liquor store was all smashed in, and he really really _really shouldn’t-_

_(_ Before _, an empty apartment and a flickering fluorescent light that burned into the backs of his eyelids, broken glass crunching underfoot and the reek of spilt alcohol in the air. His bleeding fingers hitting the answering machine to play the message over and over. I can't be around you right now, I can't be around you right now, I can't be around you right now-)_

He snapped his eyes open. His mouth was dry suddenly and his swimming gaze fixed on the bottle shop.

_You fucking shouldn't._

But he did, of course. With a deep breath, he rushed across the road. He heard a distant hiss from the biters, but they were still a ways down the street and couldn't move faster than a shamble. With a grunt, he dove through the broken window and swung his torch around.

One crumpled body on the floor. A cautionary kick - it didn’t move.

_I’m in luck_.

He went for a bottle of whiskey right off the bat, opening it then and there and swigging. The alcohol was a relieving burn, a warmth that spread through his chest and seemed to make him see the world more clearly, like something had settled that'd been jarring and out of place. He shoved the bottle in his bag, then two others - the biggest that could fit.

Snarls on the wind - a gust of dead-stench. The noise outside was loud now. Too loud - louder than it should've been. Skin crawling, Michael crept back to the window and looked out. His stomach sank in horror.

He'd thought only a few biters were making their way in this direction. This was a hell of a lot more than a _few_. Jesus fucking Christ, they packed the street wall to wall - a mass of seething, twisted bodies all stumbling ahead. At least a few hundred of them. Holy fucking hell - where'd they all come from?

His knees weak, Michael stumbled back and leaned against the wall, sucking in desperate, hissing breaths between his teeth.  

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," was all he could whisper. Jesus, there were so many. 

_Brown mentioned these. Hordes, he called them, but usually they're_ leaving _the cities. Oh fuck, I shouldn't have come in here - fuck, fuck-_

Instinct kicked in; he couldn't stay here, it wasn't safe. There were too many and if even a handful got in, he'd be trapped. There wasn't another way out of the store and with the front window broken he was practically being served up with dipping sauce.

God, Michael was just some idiot who'd gotten lucky in the forest for two months. What the fuck was he meant to do now? If Brown was here...

_Roofs_. _If I could just get to a roof, I’d be safe._

Mustering all his courage, Michael crept to the window and looked out again. The horde was only a few buildings away by now and he frantically looked for somewhere to go. There - on the opposite side of the street an ancient fire escape hung down from one building. It didn't even reach the ground, had rusted away and broken a little distance from the street, but he thought he might be able to reach it.

The snarls were growing deafening now. There were so many that every small noise they made seemed magnified; shuffling footsteps, little groans and hisses all blending together into a cacophony of noise that sent shivers down his spine and made him feel like they were already inside his head. His first primal instinct was to hide away in the dark, curled in a ball waiting for the world to end. But he was past that, now. He took a deep breath and sprinted for the other side of the street.

The second he broke from his cover the horde roared and surged towards him. Michael was faster, but they weren't just coming from that direction. More stragglers were emerging from side streets and the other end of the road, loping towards him with arms outstretched.

“Come on, come on, come on,” he hissed. He reached the bottom of the fire escape and stared up. It was about a metre above his head, and he cursed.

“Damn it,” he said, and jumped. His fingers just grazed the bottom of the lowest rung. He jumped again, and again, but there was no fucking way he was gonna manage to get up there. It was too high.

“ _Fuck!”_ he spat. A snarl behind him made him spin around to find that one of the biters had gotten close. He slashed at it with his knife, driving the blade into its eye before yanking it back out and whirling around. The only thing close by was a dumpster and he frantically clambered onto it. He’d only just made it up when the first few biters reached him.

_Oh my God. Oh my fucking God._

He didn’t even have time to panic as hands clawed at his boots and snagged in the ripped bottoms of his jeans. The adrenaline kicked in and all he could do was frantically stab and kick at them. Skulls crunched under his boots and his knife drove in, out, in and out of eyes and ears and fleshy heads, blood spraying through the night air. There were so many of them, stretching out further than the eye could see, and they were rushing up against the dumpster now; he wavered, close to losing his balance, and for a moment - for a moment he was quite certain that he was _fucked_ -

Then a loud flash and what sounded like a fucking _explosion_ rang out a little way down the road. He stumbled, steadying himself against the wall and squinting at the sudden light.

The biters turned. They began shambling towards this new threat and Michael gasped for breath, not quite sure what was going on.

“Hey!” a voice called down the street. “Over here!”

He turned. A small figure was leaning out a second storey shop window, beckoning. It was a few buildings down and the man was so far away that Michael couldn’t see much of him. But he didn’t think twice; he leaped off the dumpster and ran for the building, dodging a stray swipe from a legless biter along the way.

The door was unlocked. He rushed inside and slammed it behind him before turning the lock and sliding all the bolts home. Then slid to the ground and clutched at his hair.

_Too close. Too close_. His mind was racing and he couldn’t stop gasping, so fast he felt dizzy. After a moment tears slid down his cheeks; it’d been a closer call than he liked and he couldn’t believe he hadn’t been torn to pieces. He could still hear them outside.

It took him a long moment to calm down. When he did, a new, cold dread ran down his spine.

_Someone’s in here with me._

_Should I trust him?_

_He saved your life._

_But remember what Brown said._ The words still rang in his head. _Never trust anybody_. Stories about assholes drunk on power in this new age, willing to do anything to keep themselves alive. _I’ve seen some shit, dude. Groups are nothing but trouble_.

And his own firm view. _Alone is better. That’s how you’ve survived this long - ain’t gotta take care of anyone but yourself._

Footsteps rang out overhead. The shop entrance led into a narrow corridor, then a flight of stairs. The man was coming down them, and Michael had barely scrambled to his feet than a dark shadow appeared on the landing.

“Hey,” the guy called out. A hat was pulled low over his eyes, a scarf covered most of his face. A gun hung from one hand, but he made no move to point it at Michael. “Oh my God, get up here, dude, come see how fucking many there are! Holy shit, holy fucking _shit!_ ”

A second later he vanished back upstairs, and Michael bit his lip. But he had nowhere to run, and from the looks of things the guy could’ve shot him already if he’d had a mind to. He followed him slowly.

The man was peering out the window, shaking his head. Michael came up behind him, keeping his distance.

“Jesus, I’ve never seen so many in my fucking life,” the man said, and closed the window, resting his head against it. “There have to be thousands. Maybe more. I’m about to shit my fucking pants. _Again_.”

“It’s called a horde,” Michael replied gruffly, and very pointedly ignoring that last remark. “I haven’t run into one before today either.”

The man turned and looked at him. Under the shadows of his hat Michael couldn’t properly make out his features.

“Yeah,” he replied, slowly. “Shit’s about to get heavy around here. Winter’s coming in, that’s the problem. Storms up north always start sweeping down through the mountain. It’s gonna drive any stragglers into the city. If it wasn’t overrun already, it will be now. I think it’s time to get the hell out of this place. You okay?” he added, brows furrowing. “You weren’t bit out there, were you?”

Michael’s eyes flicked to the gun in the man’s hand. He swallowed and shook his head.

“No.” And then, still cautious but also pretty fucking aware that this guy saved him from being human toast, “Thank you.”

“All good, kid. No need to keep looking at me like I killed your dog.” Michael stared blankly at him, and he hesitated. “Oh, shit, you didn’t lose a dog in this mess, did you?”

“No. I’ve never had a dog,” Michael replied.

There was an awkward silence.

“How’d you distract them like that?” Michael couldn’t help asking. “Was that a fucking grenade? It looked like one!”

“Of sorts.” He stepped into the light, pulling down his scarf just enough for Michael to catch a wry grin. “Got a friend who cooked it up for me. Light and sound attracts those things so a makeshift bomb is good in a fix. Firecrackers work well, too. Fucking cool, am I right?”

“You have a group,” Michael said, slowly.

“Yeah,” the man replied. He fell a little quieter, then finally tugged his hat off. He was a middle aged man, with tired blue eyes and a scruffy beard, a bit gaunt the way everyone was nowadays, but with a kind smile. He held out a hand.

“Geoff, by the way.”

He was _clean_. That was the first thing Michael noticed. Most people were filthy as fuck out here, covered in sweat and grime and blood, stinking like abattoirs. But Geoff - Geoff looked like he’d washed recently, and even his beard was neatly trimmed. He felt terribly self conscious suddenly, but grasped Geoff’s hand slowly.

“Michael.”

"Nice to see another survivor," Geoff said. His smile seemed genuine enough. "You been alone the last two months?"

Michael nodded.

"I was alone when all this started. Never joined up with anyone. I got out into the forests pretty early on."

"You were good out there," Geoff said, nodding at the window.

"What?"

"Killing them." There was a funny look on Geoff's face now. "You were better than most I've seen. What did you do before all this? I’m hoping something more like butcher and not like serial killer.”

Michael hesitated again, but couldn't think of a good reason not to answer. He kept sizing Geoff up and honestly, nothing was ringing alarm bells. He seemed like a normal enough guy, though dressed in a Matrix-esque trench coat - then again, it was cold outside and you didn't want to wear shit that biters could easily tear - his face kind enough, holding the gun at his side but not aggressively. Then again, hadn't Brown said it was like this? _They always_ seem _normal at first._

"Private security," he answered finally. "I was a bodyguard. Not just random mall security, like a proper one. Usually for various rich business people. It definitely helped to be fit when all this started," he added with a scoff. Then nodded at Geoff's pistol. "Looks like you know how to use that."

"I was in the army when I was younger," Geoff replied. "By the time all this shit broke out I was working as a firefighter."

Michael's eyes lit up.

"You got a firetruck?" he demanded, and Geoff laughed.

"No. Sadly. I was... was visiting family back here in AC when people started getting sick."

He trailed off - a haunted, sad look in his eyes. Michael swallowed. He knew what _getting sick_ meant.

"Where's your base now?" he asked.

"Apartment building a few blocks away. Got its own generators and rainwater tanks, so we have light and running water. It's a good hideout - security gate, wall around the place. Most people evacuated or got sick early on so it's just my group in there. You should join us. Looks like you could use a rest and a wash. No offence," he added, pulling a face. "But you do actually smell pretty bad. Like, it's understandable given the circumstances, but Jesus Christ, dude, you reek."

Michael rolled his eyes, but his heart was pounding. Geoff had offered so easily. Why? 

"I have a handful of others with me," Geoff continued, "But none of them are really fighters. I'm the one who goes out looking for supplies, who takes care of them."

"For nothing in exchange?" Michael demanded, and Geoff frowned.

"Of course not," he replied. 

"Why?"

Geoff gave him a long, measuring look. When he spoke his voice was soft but purposeful.

"We're all humans here, Michael. It's us against them." He gestured at the window, at the wave after wave of swarming figures, the moans that echoed through the city streets. "The more of us around, the better. I joined the army in a misguided attempt to save lives, to help people. Why do you think I became a firefighter after I left? Everyone deserves to live. Everyone is worth something, even if they can't kill biters."

"In this world, that's questionable," Michael murmured. Geoff's frown deepened.

"You're a cynical bastard. Something happen?"

"Not to me." Michael swallowed. Thought of Brown. _Never trust anybody._ "A... friend of mine."

Geoff's face softened.

"I've heard about shit like that," he said. "There are some bad people out there - but not us. I promise, my group is safe. I understand if you don't trust us, but honestly, we have a good thing going. Although things are about to get hectic." He looked out the window again. The sun had set and all Michael could see were their pale faces reflected in the glass. "We can't stay in the city with this horde coming through..."

He trailed off, rubbing his hands over his face, looking deeply tired.

"Suppose I'll think up something. Anyway - I'm off home. You coming?"

Michael bit his lip, torn. It wasn't just Brown's warning - he didn't work well with others, had been alone for so long he didn't know what he'd do in a group. But he was exhausted, and Geoff seemed to have his shit together. Surely one night couldn't hurt.

"Okay," he murmured. "I'll... I'll come for now. See how it is."

"Good man." Geoff clapped him on the shoulder. Michael flinched - but Geoff just smiled warmly at him, and when he turned and left for the building's back door, he followed close behind.

\---

Geoff stood outside the bathroom door, listening to the patter of the shower running. Some time within the last few months he'd stopped ever properly feeling clean; even here, in the warmth of the apartment, he still felt like the stench of the dead clung to his skin. And now he'd quite literally brought the outside in here. 

It'd been a while since someone new joined them.

_Was it the right choice? He's not like any of the others who've joined you._

Honestly, Michael was fucking terrifying. He looked like he'd been to hell and back, covered in so much dirt and blood that there was barely a clean patch on him. And the look in his eyes as he hacked at those biters? The way he'd killed them with quick, practiced thrusts, his blade flashing in and out of skulls, kicking away any who got too close? Scary as dicks.

If they got in a fight, Geoff wasn't sure he could take him. And the thought of the wild, haunted look in Michael's eyes wouldn't leave him alone.

But here, in the dim glow of the lamplight and with several walls and a security gate between them and the dead, he tried to cling to the knowledge that for tonight at least, they were safe. Safe like they had been since they found this place. He couldn't deny any other survivor that. No, he'd made the right choice bringing Michael back, and he couldn't let himself doubt that. He'd never turned anyone away before and he wasn't about to start.

_This is what you built. Keep it strong. When everything else is falling apart, you can't let this go, too._

"Hey," a voice behind him said, and he whirled around. 

Barbara was leaning in the doorway, holding a bundle of clothes. She smiled awkwardly, and Geoff managed a smile back, waving her into the room.

"New guy still in there?" she asked, nodding at the door.

"Michael, yeah," Geoff replied tiredly. He didn't miss Barbara's dubious look as she set the clothes down on a nearby table. They'd all seen Michael when he came in and Geoff hadn’t missed the suspicion and fear on their faces. 

"It'll be fine," he assured her. "We need him."

"What do you mean?" Barbara asked. "We're doing fine here. We have you and Ryan, we've got power and water."

"Barbs..." he trailed off. After a moment he sat down and gestured for her to sit next to him.

"We've been fine so far, but this can't last. Winter's coming in and the city's flooded with biters. Just now, the shit show Michael and I were in down there... There's no way we can keep scavenging with so many of them out there."

"What are you saying?" she asked.

"We have to leave."

He saw the fear in her eyes and something tugged at his heart. Like all the others, Barbara had been holed up in here since nearly the beginning of all this. She hadn't killed a single biter yet and Geoff had naively thought he could keep it that way. 

But he knew it couldn't last.

"We're _all_ going out there," she whispered, and Geoff nodded.

"Yeah. And I can't protect you all on my own. Michael knows how to fight. If we can get him to stick around we'll have a better chance."

He saw her processing it. Finally she took a shaky breath and nodded. That surprised him, faintly. He’d expected argument.

"When do we leave?"

"As soon as possible. The horde's already quite a way into the city."

"Right. I'll tell Chris and Aaron."

She rose and left the room just a little too quickly, her hip knocking into the arm of the couch on the way out, her shaking hands betraying her. Geoff watched her go miserably.

She was helpless. So were all the others and he felt guilty for enabling it, for not insisting they all learn how to fight and survive.

"Idiot," he whispered, and clutched his head in his hands. "Arrogant, stupid idiot. Thought you could keep them all safe. Now you're all fucked."

\---

"You shouldn't have brought him here."

Geoff sighed tiredly as he entered the other flat. It had taken longer than he liked for him to calm down and kick himself back into survival mode. He was exhausted from the run - he'd gone out every day this week - and the last thing he needed was the fucking look Gus was giving him from where he sat on the couch going through Michael's bag.

"Do you gotta pull that horrible face at me?" he asked. Gus' eyebrows were terrifying at the best of times but right now they were furrowed so deeply that the crevice between them looked like it was trying to consume Geoff's soul. Jesus Christ he needed more sleep.

"You brought some forest wild man into our safe house."

"Firstly, he's not a forest wild man. Secondly, don't say safe house like it's some sort of fucking exclusive club. It's meant to be a safe house for _everyone."_

"Look what's in his fucking bag." Gus upended it and Geoff flinched at the clink of glass. "Nothing but alcohol, Geoff! That’s a great big, flashing, boozy red light right there!“

"He's been out there for two months," Geoff argued weakly. "Look, I'm hardly one to judge. He's a good fighter and that's what we're gonna need out there."

"He's dangerous," Gus argued, rising and stepping towards him. 

"He's right," another voice rang out, and Geoff turned.

Ryan was sitting at his workspace in the corner. Three more finished bombs were next to him and he tinkered with a fourth, not looking up from where he was delicately mixing ingredients. Geoff couldn't help but frown.

From the moment he'd brought Ryan in, something about the other man had unsettled him. Sure, he was some sort of academically renowned scientist and probably smarter than all the rest of them combined, so he'd taken his place near the top of the food chain when it came to deciding what their group was going to do, but - something about his eyes. They were cold, impassive, and Ryan hadn't made much of an effort to get to know anyone else in the group. They'd lived for two months in close quarters and Geoff still knew fuck all about him.

At least he was useful when it came to engineering new ways to kill biters. But like the rest of them, Ryan had avoided stepping outside these walls. He'd been more than happy for Geoff to do the heavy lifting. He wouldn't last long out there. Also, he was just a weird fuck in general who stared too long and spoke too quietly and had a tendency to sort of _lurk_. It was fucking creepy.

"I don't trust him," Ryan continued, "God knows how he survived out there. You said he was alone. How do you know he didn't just turn on the people he was with?"

"How do you know he _did?"_ Geoff shot back. "You have no reason to be so suspicious of him-"

"And _you_ have no reason to _trust_ him!" Gus cut in. "Look, Geoff, the group comes first. Our friends, the people we _trust_ come first."

"We took in Barbara, and Ryan, and Chris and Aaron," Geoff hissed. "We're not going to stop now. Besides," he added, "We need as many good fighters as we can get."

"If he turns out to be volatile, he'll only slow us down," Ryan replied, in such a bored tone that it made Geoff want to stride right over and smack the back of his head.

"How about we give him a fucking chance?" he snapped. "We need to leave the city ASAP. Tomorrow I'm gonna take him out to look for a vehicle with me. The last thing I want is you idiots trying to get through the city on foot. If we can get everyone out into the forests in a big truck or something, we have a better chance."

"A big truck. Right,” Ryan drawled, then sighed, heaving himself to his feet. "I'll get the map, see if I can find you any leads."

He left the room, Geoff glancing at him as he swept past. At a glance anyone would think Ryan would make a good fighter; he was a big guy. Thing was, Geoff had found him cowering behind a dumpster nearly in tears and clutching a baseball bat, freezing up the second biters approached him. It wasn't exactly reassuring to think he was about to take him and all the rest out there.

Gus stepped towards him, and Geoff met his eyes with a sigh.

"I don't like fighting with you," he said flatly, and Gus' face softened. He reached out and squeezed Geoff's shoulder.

"You've got us this far, Geoff. I trusted you before all this and I trust you now, but you can't keep doing this. The world isn't like it used to be, we can't just be _nice_ to everyone.”

"One thing hasn't changed, you're as much of a cynical bastard as you were before all this," Geoff joked weakly, but Gus' smile didn't reach his eyes.

"I have even more reason to be now. It's our fucking lives on the line here. We can't juggle with that. Sometimes to stay safe you gotta be an asshole. No one's coming to fix this. The world's too far gone. We adapt," he said ominously, "Or we die."

"Jesus fucking Christ," Geoff said, and rolled his eyes. “It’s not Jurassic fucking Park.”

"I mean it!"

"Yeah? Well I mean this: No one here has a family anymore. None of us," he replied, fiercely, "All we have is each other. We have to value that or all of this is for nothing. I'm going out tomorrow and I'm taking Michael with me."

\---

“-yeah. Yeah, well, they seem alright so far…. yes, I know, but I don’t have much fucking choice, do I?”

“Who’re you talking to?” Geoff asked, and Michael whirled around.

“Gotta go,” he whispered into the walkie-talkie, then shoved it into his pocket. Geoff raised an eyebrow as he walked into the living room. Michael looked a lot better without blood all over his face, and he’d shaved off that horrendous attempt at a beard, too. Geoff relaxed as he finally got a good look at him. He was younger than Geoff had expected, mid-twenties maybe, and his dark eyes were wary but not hostile.

“Thought you said you were alone,” Geoff continued - but Michael just shrugged.

“His name’s Brown. I don’t know him - we’ve never met in person, but we found each others’ frequencies a month or so back and since then we keep in touch.”

“Where is he?” 

“No fucking clue. He doesn’t trust me enough to tell me, but it’s… nice. Not to be completely alone.” One socked foot kicked at the carpet, an oddly childish gesture, and for a moment Michael looked almost vulnerable. Geoff sat on the couch opposite him.

“You meet the others yet?” he asked, and Michael nodded.

“That chick Barbara brought me food. Introduced me to the other two. So you each have an apartment in here?” he asked, casting an eye about the building. Geoff nodded.

“Yeah, it’s been good being able to have our own space. You’re welcome to stay in this flat tonight, but I’m afraid we won’t be here long. That horde is bad news, so tomorrow I’m going out to find a big truck or something that we can get out of here in. Safer than going on foot.”

Michael raised an eyebrow.

“I see the appeal of a big vehicle as a mobile shelter, but it won’t be very manoeuvrable, especially when those roads are swarming with biters. Safer to get out on foot and find a vehicle somewhere outside the city.”

“And I’d agree with you, except those guys haven’t been outside. They managed to get to safety early on and I’ve been taking care of them since.” He didn’t miss the unimpressed look on Michael’s face. “I can’t lie, I’m worried about how this will go. They’ll have to learn fast and on their feet, but I think we can make it. A truck would make things easier. Picture me as the knife-wielding mother goose herding a bunch of recently hatched ducklings and you’ll understand why I want them _inside_ a vehicle.”

“Why would you have baby ducklings if you’re a goose?”

“I picked a goose because it’s more dangerous and as you can clearly see, I am the pinnacle of deadly post-apocalyptic warrior.” He flexed one bicep and grinned. “Just bear with the metaphor, dude.”

“Jesus Christ.” Michael rubbed his hands over his face. “You’ve got a hard task ahead, buddy.”

“I’m hoping _we_ have a hard task ahead, _”_ Geoff replied slowly. “I’d like your help. For you to stick around.”

Michael lowered his hands and stared at him. He looked pained.

“You are daddy goose,” Geoff continued, helpfully.

Michael heaved a heavy sigh.

“Look, Geoff,” he said, “It’s not that I’m not grateful you saved me or even that I think I’m necessarily safer alone, but I… I don’t play well in a group. I never have, even before all this. I’m not - I’m not like you with this _we’re all in this together_ shit. I don’t think it’ll work out.”

“How do you know until you try?” Geoff urged. Michael looked away, jaw clenching.

“Look,” Geoff continued after a moment, “I get it, alright, you’re a lone wolf. And hell, I can’t blame you for not wanting to get close to new people when right now we all have more to lose than ever. But everything’s changed, now. Ryan - that’s the scientist guy, I think you met him coming in - told me he doesn’t think we can come back from this. Too many people have died, the disease is too widespread. Things won’t go back to normal so we have to prepare to live in this new world. And we can only do that together.”

“That’s a real fucking inspiring speech,” Michael replied, and Geoff’s face burned.

“You don’t have to stay. I can’t force you,” he said. “But wandering around the city alone looking for alcohol?” He caught Michael’s sheepish look. “Yeah, we saw what was in your bag, dude. Is that how you want to spend the rest of your life?”

“Alright, I don’t need a fucking lecture,” Michael snapped.

“I’m not trying to give you one. Just putting things in perspective.”

Michael was silent for a long moment, and Geoff tried not to look as desperate as he felt. He wasn’t sure what it was about the younger man that drew him to him - maybe it was just fear at the thought of having to bring all the others out on his own. Maybe because, despite having the group, he’d felt very alone the last two months. The only one who ventured out each day to face this new world, the only one who really _knew_ just how bad it was. He wanted Michael here, more than he could say.

When Michael finally nodded, he couldn’t hide his wide grin.

“Alright,” Michael grumbled, “I’ll come with you to get the vehicle, at least. I owe you that much for saving my life. After that… I’ll see.”

“Thank you,” Geoff said, and Michael looked embarrassed, flapping a hand at him. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, and flinched when Geoff squeezed his shoulder, but he looked up and his lips twitched when he saw how Geoff was beaming. “Let me get some sleep now.”

“Of course.” Geoff stood, feeling much steadier now, quite certain that Michael would end up staying. He rose and left the apartment, unable to help one final glance over his shoulder. Michael was getting his walkie-talkie out again, and Geoff hesitated. Yeah, the whole long-distance-walkie-talkie-pal was a _bit_ weird, but he let it drop for now. He’d have plenty of time to get to know Michael better.

\---

Michael had found bus depots creepy as shit at the best of times but they were even worse after the end of the world. As he inched around the chain link fence, looking for the entrance, his eyes trailed over the empty concrete lot. Only a single bus remained, and a few lingering biters roamed aimlessly around the yard.

He really had no idea what he was doing.

He shouldn't have agreed to this. He shouldn't have gotten involved. Every instinct he had was screaming that he should run and not look back. They'd split up, Geoff heading to check out a nearby truck stop, Michael sent here. The whole mission was stupid, and Geoff's whole group would probably kick it the second they stepped outside-

But Michael couldn't help the weird urge he had to stick around. To show that he wasn't just some washed up alcoholic who'd survived by hiding in trees for two months, but that he was worth something. _Could be_ worth something.

He didn't know what it was about Geoff - the way he laughed, maybe, at all Michael’s sarcastic comments. Or how he clapped him on the shoulder now and then, something he’d usually have found grating but now realised he’d missed. Stupid things that hit some ridiculous primal urge in Michael that wanted someone’s _approval._ Like the father he’d never had - actually, that was going a step too far. He didn’t have issues, fuck off.

He stared down at his walkie-talkie, took a deep breath, and continued on.

The gate was locked - no problem. He clambered over the fence, scraping his knees to shit in the process, and jumped down to the other side.

The biters swaggered in his direction, but he lit one of the firecrackers Geoff had given him, and threw it aside. It sparked and popped and the biters wandered towards it. Good - he wasn't stupid. No point taking on three if he could just avoid them. Quickly, Michael ran towards the remaining bus only to pause at its doors.

_Keys aren't in there._

He looked around and his eyes fell on a nearby office - only to freeze as more snarls and moans rang out. The firecrackers had gone out and the biters were turning back towards him. Quickly, he ran for the office and slipped inside, pausing to catch his breath.

The silence inside was a relief. Light spilled into the room from the windows, illuminating an expansive space filled with stacks of spare tires and other instruments. A few smaller offices led off from the sides. He inched forward carefully, knife drawn.

_Where would the keys be? Surely they have to be in here somewhere, surely..._ he wasn't smart enough to hotwire a car let alone a fucking bus, so he was shit out of luck if he couldn't find them.

He paused in the centre of the space, looking around. A prickle ran down his spine, and he froze. He had the distinct feeling that something was watching him, the hairs standing up on the back of his neck, and he slowly turned to look around.

"Hello?" he called tentatively, hoping to draw any biters out. But there was nothing but silence, and his own breathing-

And then a scuffling footstep from one of the side rooms. Michael nearly jumped out of his skin; clutching his knife, he advanced forward-

Right as a man stepped out of one of the rooms, nearly scaring him to death; he jumped, breath catching, raising the knife. The guy leaped back, hands raised. He wasn’t holding a weapon.

"Hi," he replied, breathlessly.

Michael stared. This was no biter, it was a guy about his age with a dirty face and tangled hair. He stared at Michael with huge eyes and a silly, awkward smile. His hands were dirty too, every crease in his palms and around his fingernails caked with grime, and he was wearing an ugly brown woollen jumper and one of those loop scarfs that had a stupid name, _snood_ or some shit, the same shade of green as his eyes.

Shock, first - then fear, and suspicion. He shifted his grip on his knife, scowling at the newcomer. Just his fucking luck - meeting two new people in two days? That was two too fucking many in his opinion!

"Who the hell are you?" he snapped.

"Hey, hey, easy." He had a ridiculous accent to boot, English or some shit, Michael didn't know. "I'm not here to fight."

"You're here for the fucking bus, why else?" Michael replied, and from the way the guy grimaced, he knew it was true. "Too damn bad. I need it."

"Now hang on just a second-"

"I _need it!"_ he snapped, his heart racing. He had no idea what to do here. Geoff was decent but he didn't trust _this_ guy, and he hadn't had this sort of situation before - running into someone else who wanted the same thing he did, especially since he didn't just want the bus for himself. It was for everyone else, too. Jesus, when had things gotten so complicated?

"Alright, alright - let's talk this over, right? Is that possible?" The man’s eyes flickered to the knife, then back to Michael's. "We've got enough problems with those bloody things out there. Don't need to be fighting each other as well." 

Michael's lips drew back in a snarl as he looked the guy over. He couldn’t see a weapon. What sort of idiot would go around unarmed in a place like this? How did he kill biters? Still - at first glance he didn't seem like much of a threat. He was taller than Michael, but skinny, like he hadn't eaten properly in a while. There was a bandage wrapped around his thigh and his boots and legwarmers were caked in mud, too. 

And he was still smiling, smiling, _smiling_ away.

"I'm serious - I'm actually glad to see another survivor out here. What's your name?"

"Shut up," Michael snapped.

"Come on, don't be like that. This part of the city is practically deserted. Anyone with sense left a long time ago." A wry smile. "Guess it's just us idiots trying to pick the rest of it clean, huh? But it's pretty lonely with no one around but the dead. Have you got a group?"

Honestly, his attempts to be nice were only making Michael not trust him (either that or he was just conditioned to associate British accents with villains). He was obviously trying to get something, or catch Michael off guard. Hell, there was no guarantee he was alone, either - maybe others were hiding somewhere in here, waiting to jump him. Michael’s hands shook.

_Geoff's proved himself. This guy hasn't._

"I'm gonna look for the keys," he replied, ignoring the man's other question. "You need to leave."

The man's smile faltered, and after a moment faded away. He slowly lowered his hands, left them hanging by his sides.

"I really need that bus too," he said, and swallowed hard. Michael stared at him intensely, never breaking eye contact. "I have a... group out in the forest. We've been hit hard by attacks from the stiffs lately. Can't keep them out of our campsite and we can't move, not for a little while. We need something big to block off part of the wall and keep them from getting in. A bus would be perfect. We've already lost so many…”

Michael hesitated. 

[ _This guy was technically in here first. But Geoff seemed pretty desperate about needing that bus, and it’s not like he’s even found the keys yet._ For a moment, he wasn’t sure what he was meant to do. ](http://www.strawpoll.me/15126230)

But Geoff wasn’t here, only Michael - Michael, who they were relying on to help them. Michael, who’d agreed to come here to try and prove himself.

_Protect your own. No one else matters. That's how you survived before all this, that's how you survived since. You gotta look out for yourself and your own or other people will just fuck you over._

_You have to get that bus no matter what. Fuck this guy._

"Don't care," Michael cut in, curtly. "I need it, so tough luck."

"I hate to call dibs, but I was in here first-" he broke off with a yelp when Michael stepped towards him, slashing the knife. "Hey, hey, I don't want to fight you!"

"Then leave," Michael snapped.

"Can we just-" 

He leaped back when Michael slashed at him again, hands still raised. Making no move to fight back, but still no move to retreat. "Look, you seem like a reasonable guy-"

"You don't know shit about me!" Michael hissed. For some reason, that comment incensed him. So did the pained look on the guy's face, like he was some sort of fucking _martyr._ Like just fucking leave already, it wasn't that hard.

"I'm not armed!" he cried. "You don't need to be scared of me-"

"I'm not fucking scared, I'm furious and you're _stupid._ " The man had stopped retreating and Michael's next few steps brought them chest to chest. The man stared at him with huge eyes and Michael glowered back. "Don't mess with me. Leave and go find a different fucking bus. You've survived this long so you must have some sense of self preservation."

"You'd be surprised," the man said, then grunted when Michael shoved him, hard, in the chest. He stumbled back a pace and straightened up, eyes huge. "Please-"

Michael shoved him again, towards the door.

"Just hang on a sec-"

"Don't you ever shut up?" Michael hissed. He pushed the guy again - he just sort of went with it, yielding to Michael's shoves like a rag doll. "Either fight back or fuck off!"

"But I don't want to!" the guy cried. He tried to weasel back past Michael into the room, and Michael grabbed his arm and hurled him to the ground. When he tried to get up, Michael punched him across the face - a quick, impulsive movement. The next thing he knew he was staring down at the guy, his knuckles burning, heart racing. 

The man blinked up at him, looking almost shocked. He reached up and touched his bloodied mouth.

"Get the fuck out of here," Michael growled, "Or I will _kill you."_

"Christ," the guy stammered, "Okay, okay. Are you sure we can't-"

"Get _out,"_ Michael repeated, and kicked at him. The man scrambled backwards; Michael's boot made contact with him a few more times before he managed to get to his feet. Hands raised, he turned tail and ran, vaulting out a window and vanishing off into the distance. Michael watched him go, chest heaving, fists clenched at his sides. He was still clutching the knife, and when he looked down at it, he felt sick.

"Fuck me," he whispered. 

Well. That was that dealt with - but his chest felt heavy and his heart wouldn't stop hammering. He looked down at his bruised and scraped knuckles, and grimaced.

_You couldn't trust him,_ he told himself. _He wouldn't have let you take it if you hadn't done that. Probably doesn't even have a group out there._

But the guy had been unarmed, and he hadn't fought back, and there was a bad taste in Michael's mouth.

"Michael?"

He jumped, whirling around with his knife raised. Geoff was standing in the doorway to the office. His knife was at his side, dripping blood, and Michael swallowed.

"Truck stop was a bust?" he asked, and Geoff nodded as he slipped in.

"Yeah, figured I'd come help you out. You okay?" he asked, eyes narrowing as he looked Michael up and down. That queasy feeling intensified, especially when Geoff grabbed his wrist and lifted his hand up, inspecting his split knuckles. "What happened here?"

"There was a guy." Geoff's gaze felt too intense suddenly. "He - he was trying to get the keys, too. Had to chase him off."

"Jesus," Geoff replied. "You alright?"

Michael nodded. Geoff was still staring and after a moment he clapped Michael on the shoulder, pulled him close.

"Hey, don't feel all torn up about it. There are some people I've run into who just wouldn't listen either. Just in it for themselves. You can't reason with folks like that. Better to let them be. Sometimes they come around later, sometimes they don't."

_Shit,_ Michael thought. He felt embarrassed suddenly - that Geoff assumed he'd been the peacemaker, that the other man had attacked _him._ It struck him that from a certain point of view he was exactly the type of person that Brown had warned him about, the sort of survivor you couldn't trust, who was only in it for themselves.

And the worst part was, he'd do it again.

Maybe it was selfish, but that's just how the world was. Whether he was doing it for himself or for Geoff's group - if you didn't take what you needed, you couldn't get by. But Geoff - he knew with a sudden, irrevocable sinking feeling the type of disappointment that'd be on Geoff's face if he knew what Michael had done. He swallowed hard.

"I can't stay," he blurted out.

"What?" Geoff asked.

"I can't stay with you." He looked down. Somehow this was harder than he'd expected, harder than it'd been yesterday. "I just - don't do well in groups."

"Oh," Geoff says. There was a long silence. He clenched his fists tighter, hoping to God that Geoff wouldn't pry and ask questions. To his relief, he didn't. "Okay."

"I'll help you get this bus back to the others. We gotta find the keys." Michael turned on his heel and hurried into one of the side offices, rummaging through drawers and searching through cupboards. After a moment he heard Geoff come in and start working alongside him in silence. Michael wondered how far the British guy had run by now. If he was lurking around outside waiting for them or if he'd fucked off like Michael told him to.

_Probably gonna run back to his group and tell them all about the freak with the knife who beat him up over a bus_ , he thought grimly. _Well, I gave him ample opportunity to leave._

A noise outside made him jump; across the room, Geoff's head snapped up. He peered out the window then turned to Michael with a grin.

"Don't worry, it's just the biters out there. Boggis, Bunce and Bean."

"The fuck?"

"One short, one fat, one lean!" Geoff chanted, while Michael stared at him in bemusement. "What, you're telling me you aren't familiar with Fantastic Mr Fox? You uncultured swine."

"Fuck off," Michael said, but couldn't help his smile. "I read more intellectual things than kid's books."

"Yeah?" Geoff asked, turning to look in a desk drawer. "What's the last thing you read, then?"

God, he had to wrack his brain pretty far back. Past the outbreak, past those months spent in a drunken haze, past the trial and all that other shit.

"Game of Thrones," he produced finally, and the sudden slam of Geoff's fist against the wooden desk made him jump. "Dude!"

"Oh my God, we'll never know how it ends now," Geoff wailed. "That's the worst part of this whole mess. Who survives? Who will sit on the iron throne?"

Michael rolled his eyes and had to fight back a laugh.

"You're right," he pointed out. "Who'd've thought the God damn apocalypse would take out George R.R. Martin first?"

"I'm actually devastated. I didn't realise this tragedy until now. You've ruined my whole fucking day," Geoff said. "Maybe he's still out there somewhere. Maybe we can find him and ask him."

"Good fucking luck. So you only read baby books or what?"

"No," Geoff said, and his smile faded. "Used to read a lot of Roald Dahl to my kids. They loved those Dirty Beast poems. Knew them by heart."

"Oh," Michael said, awkwardly. _Fuck._ "I... sorry."

"You're alright," Geoff assured him. There was a long pause, and when Michael looked over, Geoff had stopped looking through the drawers - was standing, head hanging low, shoulders hunched. He bit his lip, struck by the urge to reach out and touch him, but unable to bring himself to move. Geoff’s grief was palpable, hung over them like a cloud. 

"I haven't seen many," Geoff said finally, abruptly. "Kids, that is. Since this all ended. I know they were more susceptible to the fever, but... some must've made it out. I guess it's better this way. They don't have to see what the world's turned into. Or maybe it's just easier to tell myself that."

Michael mechanically searched the office. He didn't know what to say.

"Two fucking months," Geoff sighed finally. "It feels like forever ago."

Michael bit his lip. He finally dared to look over at Geoff again; couldn't stop noticing the dark shadows under his eyes. He was a father, once. It made him sad to look at him and think that. 

"Did you live around AC?" he asked.

"No." Geoff shook himself, seemed to wake from a daze. "I grew up further south. Gus did, too - I knew him from before all this. He was the only one of my friends close enough for me to find before communications went down."

Michael remembered him - the angry looking one who hadn't stopped giving Michael death glares since he got here. Geoff heaved a heavy sigh and seemed to gather himself, shoulders straightening again.

"How about you, kid?” he asked. “Since I've spilled my guts. Where are you from? You... you lose anyone in all this?"

Michael swallowed, some defensive wall snapping up before he could stop it. 

"I lost everyone long before this," he managed, and didn't like the look on Geoff's face, too close to pitying. But he didn't have to dwell on it long; a moment later his fingers were closing around cold metal, and he held up the keys and jingled them. "Bingo."

\---

It was clear the dinner was meant to be some sort of happy occasion - a last meal all together in one of the larger apartments, a coming-together and celebration of how far they'd made it.

But a sombre air hung over the grim last supper, everyone too-aware that tomorrow, under cover of darkness, they'd be leaving this haven. Michael ate quickly, silently.

_Where will you go after this? Back out there? Towards the suburbs? Steal a car if you can - Geoff might know where to get one._

He left the table early, retreating to the next room where he cracked open one of the bottles he'd salvaged and poured himself a generous glass of whiskey. He sat, staring at the red glow of the radiator, and realised his hand was shaking. He turned it in front of him, examining the ugly scrapes and bruises where he'd hit the Brit in the teeth.

_He's out there somewhere. God knows how many others are. What was the last stat you saw? Thirty percent of the population still alive? Probably gone down since then._

_Could've been Brown in that bus depot._ That made him uncomfortable. How many of them were out there - just some guy trying to get by?

"Hey," a quiet voice said next to him, and he looked up to see Barbara. She smiled nervously, undeterred when he just grunted and turned away from her again, and even sat right next to him on the couch. He closed his eyes, trying to steady himself. He'd seen too many swaggering dead girls with their faces rotting, blood streaming down their faces, hair tangled and matted with grime. Barbara looked too pretty, too clean, too untouched in comparison. A brutal reminder of everything the world had lost. He knew, once she got out there, it wouldn't last. Never did.

"You left the table," she commented.

"So'd you," he pointed out, and she pulled a face. After a second he offered her the bottle, and to his surprise she took it, sloshing a fair amount into her own glass.

"Yeah," she muttered, and slumped back next to him, their arms just brushing. "Can't deal with another one of Chris' stupid stories about the time he went hiking through New Zealand. He went on some sort of trip trying to go to all the places they filmed Lord of the Rings. Got lost in the forest for a day and acts like it was the end of the fucking world." She gave a wry smile. "Pales in comparison to this."

"He's about to get a hell of a shock when you take him out into _that_ forest." He jerked his thumb out the window, gesturing vaguely at the national park that surrounded part of AC. His home sweet home for the last couple of months. "You're not from here either, I'm guessing?"

"Nope. Canada. Exchange student. Guess I'm never getting home now," she said miserably, and turned back to her drink. Michael snuck a glance at her, but a moment later Ryan passed through the room, leaving the flat without so much as a glance at them. As soon as the door shut, Barbara turned to him.

"God, he's weird."

"Who is he, anyway? Geoff just said he was a scientist."

" _Doctor Haywood_ ," she intoned, affectedly, "Chemical engineer, apparently. Geoff found him a couple weeks after he found me. He's... _interesting."_

"Interesting," Michael repeatedly flatly.

"Antisocial, I guess. He's fucking terrified of going out there, though. Out of all of us I bet he's shitting himself the most at the thought of not being able to stay here, where it's warm and safe and the biters can't get in." She stared after him and Michael frowned a bit.

"How about you?" he asked.

"What about me?"

"Are you scared?"

Barbara shifted back towards him but didn't quite meet his eyes. After a moment, she poured herself another glass.

"Of course I'm scared," she replied, tightly. "I've been lucky so far. A lot luckier than most people. If it wasn't for Geoff, I'd probably be dead. I'm not cut out to survive in this world. I don't know how to fight, I... I'm a fucking communications major for God's sake. Right when I graduate from my damn degree the whole world goes to shit. Four years down the drain. At least I don't have to worry about the uni debt." 

"Small blessings," Michael muttered, and she glanced at him.

"How many have you killed?" she asked. "Biters, that is."

"It's a bit morbid to keep count," Michael replied, a bit shocked. But she kept staring at him, intently, and he closed his eyes for a moment. It was impossible not to think about how fragile his own body was when he'd seen brains spatter across the ground, seen muscle tear and bones break, time and time again. "I don't know. Lots of them. I've honestly lost track."

"But is it hard?" she asked, softer now. "Not to see them as people."

"At first it was. At the start they looked more like people, of course. They were... _fresh."_ He grimaced. “But after a while they all just sort of... blur together. And the more time goes on, the more they just look like monsters. It's not hard, after that. I don't feel guilty about it."

"Right," Barbara whispered. "I... I've only killed one. Right at the start. I hit it with my car. God, he was barely more than a kid. Still in his sports uniform. I remember every detail of it. I see it when I sleep. I know he was already dead but I... I still can't help thinking about it. That was a human, once. Someone just like us. They all were."

"Better not to think about it." He poured himself another glass. "Start getting all philosophical and shit and you'll just freeze up. They're dead, end of story. And now it's them or us."

"Them or us," she whispered, and Michael stared into his glass, swirling it gently. His thoughts kept drifting back to the British guy. He'd been out there all along, just like Michael and Geoff and Brown. _Surviving_. If Michael had found the keys earlier, would he have fought him for them? Or just sat there and let Michael take them the same way he'd sat there and let him hit him, over and over?

It made him feel sick to think about it. He swallowed hard, and looked away. 

"Anyway," Barbara continued. "Tomorrow everything will change. I guess it feels like it's all about to become real."

"Can't hide forever," he grunted, unsympathetic. She just nodded.

"I wish you were coming with us," she whispered.

"You don't know shit about me. Trust me, you don't want me along." 

"Geoff says you're alright," Barbara said. 

“Geoff's wrong.” He swigged straight from the bottle this time. “I'm not a good guy. You're better off without me. You'll learn to fight. You'll have to."

"Maybe." She bit her lip. "Where will you go?"

"Don't fucking know. But Geoff’ll take care of you," he said quickly, switching the topic. "He's a good man."

"He is." Her smile was more genuine this time. "I've never met anyone like him. He's kept us all together - stopped us giving up. No matter what happened, he's always kept us safe. It makes me hope that maybe we can still all get through this."

Michael didn't answer, for once didn't want some cynical comment to crawl out of his mouth and ruin everything. After a while, Barbara sighed. She lingered a moment, like she wanted to say something else, but when Michael didn't answer she slipped away. He felt colder without her on the couch beside him, and looked down at his walkie talkie.

"Brown?" he whispered into it, hitting the button. "You there?"

He'd tried earlier tonight, but the other man wasn't answering. It wasn't uncommon, they'd gone days without talking to each other before - but this time it gave him an uneasy feeling. He bit his lip, feeling suddenly terribly alone.

"Hey kid," Geoff's voice came from next to him, and Michael glanced up. Geoff raised his eyebrows and pointed at the walkie-talkie. "Not picking up?"

Michael shook his head, and Geoff heaved himself onto the couch with a sigh. It dipped under his weight, Michael falling against his side a little. He found he didn't mind; Geoff was warm, and too easy to get close to.

"I'm sure he's fine," Geoff said, and somehow, coming from him, it was easy to believe. "Not exactly easy to get hold of people these days."

"Yeah," Michael murmured. "Drink?"

"I don't anymore," Geoff replied, shaking his head. He leaned back against the couch, arm stretching out behind Michael's head, and sighed. "God, I'm tired. Never ends these days, I guess."

Michael nodded. He set the bottle aside, feeling a little awkward. For a while they just sat there, staring at the radiator.

"How do you do it?" he heard himself say, distantly.

"Hm?"

"All this shit. Putting your life at risk for them day after day. Trusting that there's a better future out there somewhere. How do you not just believe that we're all just - dead meat?"

Geoff shifted. Michael opened his eyes, looked up at him, but Geoff's eyes were lidded, staring down at his hands. Twisting his wedding band around and around on his finger. 

"Sometimes," he said finally, "When you hit absolute rock fucking bottom, and it seems like there's no way out of the dark… there’s nothing left to be scared of. We've seen hell come alive and take over this earth. I've had my worst nightmare - my _worst nightmare_ , Michael, happen over and over. Everything taken from me. _Everything._ And the worst part is, there's no one to blame. God? Fate? I don't fucking know. But whatever this evil is, I'm going to go down fighting. Maybe I'll die, but by God, I will _go down fighting."_

Michael sat transfixed. He could feel Geoff trembling next to him.

"And save anyone I God damn can along the way," Geoff whispered. "It's that or give up. The choice is as simple as that. If you're gonna fight, you might as well do it the right way. What's the point in surviving just for yourself?"

That struck something in Michael, something that made a deep, sick ache spread through his chest.

_It's all I know_ , he thought, but couldn't say it. Instead, he closed his eyes and tentatively leaned his head on Geoff's shoulder. It was silly - hell, it was childish - but it'd been too long since he felt another human touch, too long since there was a warm body next to him. Parent, lover, even just a friend. 

Geoff didn't move away; after a moment his heavy arm dropped down around Michael's shoulders. He was warm, and Michael could feel the rise and fall of his breathing, and he let the words circle in his head. Let himself have this, just for tonight - even if he knew it couldn't last.

\---

“Are you sure you can’t stay?” Geoff asked.

It was a cold morning, the sky paling as dawn approached. Michael was huddled in a new parka they’d given him. He had a pretty solid idea of where he was heading - East, towards the suburbs - and Geoff had walked a little way with him, charting the best course for the bus. In the distance Michael could see the highway sloping towards the twisting arches of the interchange, one of the roads leading away into the forest. 

“Yeah,” he replied, even if the words felt heavy. “Yeah, I’m sure.”  
  
Geoff nodded, and bit his lip.

“Well,” he said, and scuffed a foot along the ground, “Good luck out there, yeah? It’s a lonely road ahead.”  
  
Michael smiled, faintly. Now that the time had actually come to walk away, he felt funny and dull. But this, he thought, was exactly why it was better _not_ to get close. Now he’d spend all his time worrying about whether Geoff’s group was okay. 

“Thank you,” he said gruffy. “For - everything.”  
  
“I should be thanking you,” Geoff laughed. He looked a bit teary, and after a moment he sniffed theatrically. “Look at me go. Don’t worry,” he added, at Michael’s alarmed look, “I cry all the fucking time.”  
  
“Alright.”  
  
“Should’ve seen me after _Titanic_.”  
  
“Fair enough.”  
  
“I cried watching _Frozen_. Not even at the sad bits.”  
  
“I get it,” Michael said, with a scoffed laugh, and Geoff laughed too, stepping forward to clasp Michael’s arm. It felt strange, standing there in the middle of an empty road. This part of the city was deserted, the horde further off. It really did feel like a ghost town, and the barely risen sun cast a sallow light through the clouds that gave everything an eerie quality, like they were standing in a black and white photograph.

“Michael,” Geoff said suddenly, “This world, it… breaks people. Don’t let it break you. We are whatever we want to be out here.”  
  
Michael’s knuckles ached. He clenched his fist, shook his hand out.

“Thanks, Master Yoda,” he managed, and Geoff laughed.

“Fucked this world is,” he cried, in a shrill voice, “Stick together we must.”  
  
“Jesus _fucking_ Christ,” Michael said, rolling his eyes.

“Travel safely,” Geoff replied, thankfully in his normal voice. 

Michael nodded. They shook hands and he paused for a moment. It was an odd, still moment that felt like an ending, like the second he let go he’d be lost, adrift. For a moment all he could do was stare into Geoff’s eyes, oasis blue.

Then they both heard it, and he felt Geoff stiffen in his grasp - a gentle tinkling like wind chimes.

“What the fuck?” Geoff said.

His eyes drifted up over Michael’s shoulder, and widened. Michael twisted around, following his gaze. He frowned.

A crimson kite was sailing overhead, a few streets away, like a knife wound against the grey sky. Trailing from its tail was a series of colourful ribbons, and tied to them, assorted debris. Shards of shimmering glass, scraps of metal and tin cans. They clattered together in an echoing racket. 

“Shit,” Michael hissed. “Shit, _shit_.”  
  
“Biter bait,” Geoff whispered, as it hit him, too. They were attracted to colour and sound - this thing would draw them like a moth to a flame. As the realisation dawned, anger flooded over his face. “What the fuck - who’s out there flying that thing?”  
  
Michael’s thoughts flashed to the English guy, the only other survivor he’d seen in the city. Was it him? Whoever it was, they were only a few streets away - but that wasn’t the issue. He could already hear snarls and moans as biters began to emerge from the streets around them - out of doorways and broken shopfronts, from narrow side streets - staggering forward with their eyes fixed to the sky.

"Oh my God," Michael breathed, only to grunt as Geoff roughly shoved him.

"Run, run!" he said, grabbing Michael's arm and yanking him along. They rushed down a winding side street, stinking of refuse and covered in split garbage bags. A thrashing pile of blood-soaked sheets was piled in one corner, muffled moans coming from beneath it. Michael's blood ran cold, but they continued past it. There was something nightmarish to the whole thing - all around the city he could hear the biters waking up, each new wail sending three others echoing off elsewhere in the city.

"Left!" Geoff called, and they veered down another road. He thought he recognised this area now - they were working their way back around to the apartment. The shadow of the kite flitted overhead, a ghostly spectre along the wall of the nearest building, like the grim reaper's shadow followed by the silhouettes of the biters.

"This way!" Geoff called, shouldering past him and hurrying on. Michael followed, only for them both to pause.

The road they needed to go down was blocked by cars. Some seemed to have collided, others were just backed up, but they were packed front to back. Michael could see a few biters trapped between them - some crushed, others just stuck with nowhere to go - could see the writhing silhouettes of others behind tinted glass windows.

"Shit," Michael whispered. "Can we go back?"

Geoff glanced over his shoulder and shook his head. Michael took a deep breath and moved forward, squeezing between two cars. A biter trapped nearby swung at him; he stabbed it through the ear.

"There's no room to get between them," he called out - only to turn and see Geoff already climbing up over the boot of one of the cars to stand on top of it. He held out a hand and hauled Michael up after him.

"Fucking hell," Michael whispered, looking around. He felt like he was playing the world's worst game of the floor is lava, standing amongst a sea of colourful roofs between which biters thrashed, hands grasping for them.

"Come on," Geoff said. He walked along the roof of the car before stepping to the next one, picking his way carefully across. 

Michael followed, keeping a tight grip on his knife. His heart was pounding and every now and then one of the roofs beneath him would thump as biters inside the cars reached up to beat on the ceiling. 

The last few cars loomed ahead of them, the road on the other side clear. Geoff pulled ahead and Michael hurried after him-

Only to stumble when a hand suddenly closed around his ankle, yanking hard. He barely had time to register it before he was falling flat on his face on the hood of a car, the wind knocked out of him with a yell. The sound was so loud that it set off all the biters around them; a cacophony of hissing rang out and he saw them beginning to squeeze their way between the cars towards him.

The hand was still digging into his ankle; he turned and saw it belonged to a biter leaning out the half-open door of one of the cars. It couldn't get any further out; the seatbelt was holding it back and the door wouldn't open any further, but its nails were digging into him and his heart slammed, terrified it'd break the skin and infect him. He kicked at it, trying to sit up, only to turn and bite back a scream.

"Holy fuck!" he spat - the car he'd landed on had a shattered windscreen and there was a biter in the front seat pawing at him, leaning forward and struggling to climb out. He tried to scramble backwards, but wasn't fast enough; a decomposing arm stretched through the broken glass and the next thing he knew, it'd grabbed his hair.

"Fuck, fuck- Geoff!" he yelled, panicked. He swung with his knife, but couldn't get the angle right. One hand still yanked at his hair, the other at his ankle, and all his thrashing was doing nothing. A furious tug from the biter in the car brought him closer to the broken windscreen; shards of glass dug into him and its teeth gnashed close to his face; he pulled back but couldn't get free.

"Michael!" he heard Geoff yell, and managed to twist just enough to see him making his way back towards him. He kicked out and his boot connected with the biter's face, but it didn't let go.

Geoff had reached him now. He hacked at the biter's arm with his knife, but more were closing in now. Another swing - and the grip on Michael's hair slackened, but the biter slid out through the windscreen and landed on top of him. There was a moment when Michael couldn’t see anything - squashed under its body, face mashed against the hood of the car. 

All he could hear were grunts, and moans, and Geoff's voice yelling distantly, his other senses flooded with the stink of rotting flesh and blood-

And then the grip on his ankle fell away, and he heaved the body off him, sitting up and gulping for air. He scrambled free, trembling. A hand on his arm made him flinch, but he spun around and realised it was Geoff. He was standing by the car, covered in blood and surrounded by dead biters. His face was white as a sheet.

"Michael? You okay?" he demanded, and Michael nodded. He couldn't stop shaking, but nothing hurt too badly, and when he reached down and pulled up the leg of his jeans, he realised the biter hadn't broken his skin.

"I'm good. Let's get out of here!" he said, and Geoff nodded, grabbing his arm and yanking him along. They reached the end of the road and ducked into a shadowy alley, pausing to catch their breath.

That was the point where it really hit Michael, how close he'd come to teeth ripping out his throat. He collapsed against the nearest wall, breathing so fast it nearly hurt.

"Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit," he heard himself saying, the words spilling out nearly beyond his control. He put his knife away before he could drop it and clenched his fists, pressing them hard against his thighs for a moment, trying to quell the panic that was tightening like a vice around his chest.

"Michael, calm down," Geoff said. His voice sounded far away, like Michael was hearing it from deep underwater. He clasped Michael's shoulders, then his face, his hands warm against Michael's cheeks. Michael finally focused, meeting Geoff's gaze. He realised there were tears in the other man's eyes. _Why?_

"Shit, dude," he stammered. "I owe you. Oh my God. That thing nearly got me-"

He broke off with a choked sound. Could still feel its phantom fingers in his hair. There'd been close calls before, but never as close as that.

"Kid," Geoff began, "Listen-"

"Jesus Christ," Michael cut in, when he realised he could still hear moaning. He moved dizzily to the other end of the alley and looked out. Biters were stumbling from the buildings and behind cars. At least a dozen.

"There's so many," he whispered, and looked down at his knife. Here in the shadows they were safe, but this was the only way they could go. "How can we get past them?"

"Michael, I need you to listen," Geoff said behind him.

Michael stared at the biters, transfixed by their swaying figures. He felt sick and out of it, but Geoff's hand closed tightly around his wrist and tugged him back. The next thing he knew his back was against the wall and Geoff was squeezing his shoulders hard.

"Geoff?" he asked, and Geoff shook him until his eyes focused on his.

"The apartment is to the left, down this road, and then three blocks away. Take the right on Kent St and it's halfway down the road - are you listening? Three blocks down George St and then right on Kent."

"What - what are you talking about?" Michael stammered. "Doesn't fucking matter if we can't get past those things!"

"You'll get past them," Geoff said slowly, "Because I'm gonna lead them away."

"Wait, what?" The words weren't sinking in. "No, you're fucking not..."

He trailed off. Geoff was reaching up to pull his scarf aside and every instinct in Michael was flooded with dread. _No, no, no_ \- but he couldn't do anything, was helpless to stand there and watch as Geoff pulled open the collar of his ripped shirt, and he saw it. The bite mark, high on his shoulder, oozing blood. He hadn't noticed it amongst all the other ichor and grime.

For a second, it didn't quite register. When it did, it was a cold shock.

_The bite leads to the fever. There's no coming back from that. Two days, three tops. And then you die. And then you come back. No cure._

"No," he whispered. "No, no-"

"Michael-"

"How? When?" But even as he asked, he realised it, and another shock jolted down his spine. "When you were saving me."

"Michael," Geoff said, patiently, but Michael could see the tears glistening in his eyes, could feel the slight tremor in his hands.

"Oh, God." He pressed a shaking hand to his mouth. Of every scenario that could come out of meeting the other group, him getting _Geoff_ killed was not in the cards. He sank back against the wall again, but Geoff grabbed his shoulders and shook him hard.

"Michael," he snapped, "This is not your fault. I would've done it for anyone. I need you to pull yourself the fuck together - _Michael!"_

He grabbed his face again and Michael met his eyes. He took a deep breath. Something about how resolute and determined Geoff looked steadied him, too.

"I need you to listen. Can you do that?" Geoff demanded, and he nodded. "Good. You have to get the others out of here. I'm entrusting them to you. Please," and his voice broke a little then, "Can you do that for me? They won't survive without a fighter."

"Fuck, _fuck_ -"

"Michael, I need you to do this. I know you don't want to but they _cannot_ survive without someone with them. This city belongs to the dead now. You know the forests. You can help them. Don't let this be for nothing."

Holy shit. Holy _shit,_ he did not want to do this - but he already knew he would. He owed Geoff, owed him more than he could say, and it was hitting him for the first time that he was not alone out here. He was not the only one who'd survived the entire fucking collapse of everything he thought he knew. Those of them that were still alive - they were all humans, they were all that was left, they really were in this together. A spark had been lit that wouldn’t go out. He nodded, and meant it, and saw Geoff's face slacken in relief.

"Geoff," he whispered, and reached up to grip his wrist. "I'm so fucking sorry."

"Don't be sorry," Geoff replied. "It's not anyone's fault. Meeting you the day before this shit happened, now that's a stroke of fate."

He smiled, but he was scared, Michael could see it deep in his eyes. He was fucking terrified.

“Don’t let Gus push you around,” he continued, his voice shaking badly now. “And don’t take Ryan’s shit, either. But just - take care of them, yeah?”

“I will,” Michael choked out, and Geoff took a deep breath and nodded. He stepped back and checked his gun.

“How many bullets left?” Michael asked.

“Six.” A wry smile. “I’ll save one for myself.”  
  
Dear God, was that not horrible to think about - but Geoff was already turning to go, and Michael, panicked, reached out and grabbed his hand. Geoff turned around but Michael could only stare at him, gaping like a beached fish, with nothing really to say. He sputtered for a moment and Geoff gave a gentle smile.

“Prove me right,” he said, and Michael swallowed. Geoff squeezed his hand and then turned, and ran off.

And then he was gone. Michael watched, horrified, as he vanished out into the alley. He felt numb; the only thing cycling in his head was _maybe Brown was wrong. Maybe he was wrong._

“Hey, assholes!” he heard Geoff shriek - then a gunshot, a surefire way to draw their attention. He saw the biters stumble past the mouth of the alley, chasing after Geoff, and as soon as they were gone he took a deep breath. _Focus_. And then ran, clutching his knife, back to the apartment and the others.

\---

Everything felt out of focus.

The next thing Michael knew, he was standing in front of them, watching the colour drain from their faces. He was dimly aware that Barbara and Chris were crying, but he felt like he was watching it happen through a panel of frosted glass; detached and blurred.

He swallowed hard. Somehow, his voice wasn’t shaking, but it sounded like someone else’s. Someone older.

“Anyone who wants to come,” he finished, “I’ll take you on the bus out to the forest, further east than I was before. It’s closer to small towns. We can survive out there - we’ll figure out what we do next. I’ll teach you to fight. We’ll… we’ll get by.”  
  
“This is a sudden change of heart,” Gus grunted, and Michael turned to him. He felt very tired suddenly.

“Geoff saved my life,” he said. “I owe him. And we’re stronger together.”

A long silence. He could hear the others’ hitching, heavy breaths. The apartment felt too hot suddenly, too confined and small, like a padded coffin.

“If you want to come, we’ll leave tonight,” he repeated.

“Jesus,” Chris blurted out - Michael turned to him, and he swallowed nervously. It was weird - Michael hadn’t properly looked at him until now, and it was odd to meet his eyes. He had a kind face, he thought, too kind for this world. But he was a stranger. They all were. Chris licked his lips, anxiously. “It’s just - fast. It’s all moving real fast.”  
  
Aaron reached out and squeezed his arm.

“We’ll come,” he told Michael, with a steady nod.

“I won’t.”

They all turned to Gus, who stood glowering, arms folded. Michael stepped towards him.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“I’m not fucking coming,” Gus snapped, “Jesus _Christ_ , are you all just gonna follow this random guy? I trusted _Geoff_ to keep us safe. Excuse me for not trusting the first man we come across.”  
  
Michael felt like he’d swallowed stones.

“I know you don’t know me,” he began, “But-”  
  
“But what? All I know is you show up, and the next day Geoff’s fucking _dead!_ ” Gus cried. Michael realised that his voice was shaking like he was barely holding it together, his eyes red. And he remembered, then, that Geoff had said he knew Gus from before all this. His heart sank.

“Gus,” Barbara whispered, and he turned to her.

“Come with me,” he urged. “There are smaller cars around this apartment. I’m headed north - we heard whispers about a military camp there, remember?”  
  
“Geoff thought that was just a rumour,” Barbara began.

“It’s not likely to be true,” Ryan cut in, “If the military really was-”  
  
“Shut up, Ryan,” Gus snapped. “Either way, I’m not going with this guy. A kite? Really? Some guy’s just running around with a fucking _kite_ trailing biters after him, I’m meant to believe that?”

“It’s true,” Michael argued, with a hot flare of anger.

“Yeah, sure,” Gus sneered, and turned to the others. There was a plea in his voice now. “We were fine without him.”  
  
“None of us have been outside before,” Barbara pointed out. “You’ve never been out there.”  
  
“We’ll learn as we go. Who’s coming with me?”

There was a long, excruciating silence. Michael folded his arms, feeling thoroughly awkward. Chris was looking down, scuffing his feet; Aaron’s hands were shoved in his pockets. Gus’ gaze turned to each of them in turn.

“Really?” he demanded, finally. “Even you, Ryan?”  
  
Ryan swallowed.

“You’ve never been outside,” he pointed out quietly. “Michael has survived out there for two months. He knows the best way to kill these things and the best techniques for scavenging. Statistically, the best chance for survival lies with-”  
  
“So that’s how it is.” Gus pressed his lips together tightly. “Well. Have fun. I’m leaving while there’s still daylight.”  
  
He whirled around, marching for the door.

“That’s it?” Barbara called after him, upset. “You’re just gonna go?”  
  
“I’m just gonna go,” Gus shot back, coldly, and stalked out. 

Another strained silence fell. Michael gnawed at his lip, unsure where to look. He felt rattled and unsure of himself after Gus’ outburst - the last thing he’d expected was for them to not _want_ to come with him. But when he turned to the others, Aaron pressed Chris’ arm before giving Michael a reassuring nod.

“We’ll pack our stuff,” he said, and Michael nodded, jolting into action.

“Gather anything that could be used as weapons,” he ordered. “Hammers, knives, whatever you got. Bring it here and I’ll sort through it to see what’s the most useful. Pack warm clothes and any food you have. Winter’s on the way. It’s gonna be tough out there.”  
  
They trailed out of the room and Michael took a deep breath, closing his eyes and gathering himself. For a flash of a moment he thought of Geoff - wondered where he was, if he’d got away from the horde and was waiting things out, or if he’d finished himself off already. He shook those thoughts away, feeling sick.  _Don’t. Just don’t._

_God, I need a drink._

He headed into the next room, poured himself a whiskey, and took one sip before he slumped like a puppet with its strings cut and threw himself on the couch.

“What am I doing?” he whispered, and ground the heels of his hands into his eyes. “What the fuck am I doing?”  
  
Was this how Geoff had felt, this heaviness on his shoulders? He sat for a moment, shaking, before scrambling for the walkie-talkie, hitting the button desperately.

“Brown?” he whispered. He still hadn’t managed to get through to him last night, or earlier this morning when he tried. “Brown, come in, I need you.”  
  
Nothing. The panic rose sickeningly in his chest.

“Brown, come the fuck _on_ , I need to talk!” he hissed. His voice was breaking and his hands wouldn’t stop shaking. “I just - help me. _Please_. I can’t do this alone.”  
  
“You’re not alone,” a voice said, and his head snapped up.

Barbara stood in the doorway, watching him. She’d abandoned her house clothes for a black leather jacket and tied her hair back. Her eyes were red rimmed, but her jaw was set, determined. She stepped towards him, a little shy, but her eyes never left his.

“You’re not alone,” she repeated, and Michael swallowed. Barbara had reached him now, and held out a hand.

He took a deep breath and grasped it, rising, both looking out the window - out across the city, towards the highway, the forest leading away beyond.

\---

The forest was cold at night. Gavin shivered where he was hunched over the basin of water in his tent, goosebumps rippling across his bare skin.

“Fucking idiot,” Dan said. He was dabbing at Gavin’s back with a freezing washcloth, wiping away the accumulated blood and grime. His other hand was warm on Gavin’s shoulder, keeping him still. The touch was grounding, and Gavin let his eyes slip shut. “I hate you.”  
  
“You don’t, B,” he murmured.

“Fuck off. I should’ve been there with you.”  
  
The guilt and frustration in his voice made Gavin open his eyes again. His bruises throbbed when he twisted to look up at Dan.  
  
“It was faster with just one.”  
  
“You could’ve told me. Could’ve _asked_ me instead of slipping out in the dead of fucking night. I didn’t even know you’d gone until Edgar told us the next morning.” 

Gavin looked away, but he could still _sense_ Dan’s raised eyebrow behind him. 

“Are you done yet?” he asked finally.

“Yeah, asshole,” Dan said, and flicked cold water in his ear before throwing a hoodie at him - one of his own. Gavin took it and pulled it on gratefully, tugging the sleeves down over his hands and wrapping his arms around himself, trying to stop shivering. He turned and Dan’s hand grasped his chin, tilting his head up. He inspected Gavin’s face and frowned.

He looked like shit, Gavin knew, all bruised and swollen. Felt like it, too. That bastard had a mean right hook.

“I just don’t understand,” Dan whispered finally. “You had a gun. You could have shot him.”

“Dan,” he said, warningly.

“Threatened him, at the least! You just let him hit you. You just let him take it.”

“He needed it,” Gavin argued. His head was throbbing, it had been all day. _I need to eat._ “He seemed to need it pretty badly.”

“So do we!”  
  
“I wasn’t about to point a gun at him and take it by force,” he snapped. “I tried to talk it out. He wouldn't listen. So I left. Don’t start,” he added warningly, when Dan’s mouth opened again, “That’s not how I do things. That’s not how _we_ do things.”  
  
“It’s how other people do things nowadays,” Dan shot back. “It _is_. Don’t give me that look, it’s true and you know it.”

Gavin closed his eyes. He felt Dan step up next to him. Heard him take another breath.

“You promised me,” Dan said quietly, “You wouldn’t let people push you around anymore-”

“Oh, fuck off. That was different.” He rubbed his arms, wrapped them around himself again. “That was years ago.”  
  
“Gav…” Dan wrapped an arm around his shoulders, even as Gavin ignored him, staring blankly at the tent wall instead. The flickering shadows that danced over the surface. “You should have shot him.”  
  
He shut his eyes again. Logically, he knew, Dan was right. But he shook himself.

“No,” he whispered, “And if I could do it again, I still wouldn’t.”

A long silence. Dan wasn’t happy, Gavin could sense it.

“Well, what are you going to tell them?” he demanded finally. “Everyone’s out there expecting you to fix this.”  
  
“I’ll come up with something,” Gavin replied. “I always do.”  
  
“They’re waiting.”  
  
“Gimme a minute, yeah?”

Dan slipped away, and Gavin sighed. He felt cold and sore, and like the whole world out there was too big and too dark. But he forced himself to take a deep breath and let it all slip out. _Count to three, in and out_. Stretched his fingers out and imagined the heaviness on his shoulders was melting away, streaming out his fingertips and into the ground like electricity. Like he was a rock and water was rushing over him; he was grounded, nothing could sway him, his anxieties easing slowly. He bent and picked up his gun, strapping it to his belt again, tugging the hoodie down to conceal it completely.

Then he turned, and yanked open the flap of the tent, striding out with purpose.

Outside the night was very dark. The silhouettes of trees lined the campsite with branches that looked like grasping arms, a black sky hanging heavily above. A flickering campfire in the centre of the space sent a warm glow sprawling towards the circle of tents. A series of pale faces hovered around it, a dozen pairs of eyes turning to look at him as he approached - eagerly, confident, awaiting their leader and the answers he held.

Dan slipped up by his side, a steady, reassuring presence as always.

Gavin’s back straightened. He took a deep breath, shaking his shoulders like he could shake the weight right off them.

“So,” he began, and stepped forward to speak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **UPDATES WEEKLY**
> 
> Thanks to youre-my-bois, shinyhappymurdersongs, and wash-your-sinful-hands for their help with chapter one <3 Even bigger thanks to relishtoast, joybones and ebbatriestowrite for their amazing beta-reading work <3 <3
> 
> Biggest thanks to rhinnie who has helped with every chapter of the fic <3 <3 <3


	2. 1x02: Do No Evil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who participated in the poll last chapter! I loved seeing your choices <3
> 
> Manual link for this chapter: <https://www.strawpoll.me/15175849>

“First biter we ever killed? It was a fucking fiasco, and it was all Chris’ fault.”

“That’s _deeply_ unfair.”

“So things are starting to go to shit; areas being quarantined, should probably stay indoors, right? Not in Chris’ opinion. He’d arranged on Craigslist to pick up some limited edition action figure and apparently thought it’d be fantastic to go through with it.”

“ _Look_ , they only made a few of those Sarumans, okay? They’re worth a fortune and this guy was selling it for fifty dollars!”

“ _Anyway_ , we get to the apartment and Chris decides to try _haggle,_ but this guy is not having it. And he feels so awkward he ends up buying the damn thing for more than he originally agreed to!”

“Still way less than it’s worth…”

“But then the power goes out. And we can see on our phones about that hospital in New York, and we’re _freaking out_. We’re stuck in this _random guy’s_ apartment, we can’t call anybody… He starts panicking, we start panicking, he starts panicking so much he can’t _breathe_ , and he doesn’t have an inhaler because he hasn’t needed one in years-”

“Is this meant to be a funny story?” Michael cut in.

In the dark everything seemed heightened. The dancing shadows the flickering campfire cast over all of them, the shapes of the trees closing in. The chill of the night air and the distant hum of crickets. 

“No,” Aaron replied, slowly. “It wasn’t funny at all, actually. We didn’t know what to do. He died right in front of us - first body I’d ever seen. Chris ran for help while I tried to do CPR. Came back with a fucking body bag. Turns out this guy’s neighbour was a paramedic - wish we’d known that fifteen minutes ago - but he didn’t wanna leave his family. They had the fever. So we zip this guy up, and Chris insists on going for help.”

“We didn’t know what was happening!”

“Chris insists on _taking the fucking body with us_.”

“You don’t just _leave a dead body,_ Aaron, you gotta report it.”

“Yeah - when the world’s normal! Anyway, anyone who _is_ still around is just trying to get the hell home. We’re lugging this fucking body bag down the street because we came there on my bike. And then we stop to rest. And then he starts moving.”

Michael stiffened. 

“He starts moving,” Aaron repeated, “And we think, fuck, he wasn’t dead after all.”

“To be fair,” Chris cut in, “I have like no CPR training and I wasn’t sure where to check for a pulse.”

“The neck’s generally a good place to start.”

“I know, but I was like… unsure if I felt one or not? So we think, fuck, he’s alive, and so we unzip him - and he nearly takes my damn throat out before Aaron starts zipping the bag up again. Except we can’t get it all the way so he’s trapped in this bag with just his head sticking out. Thrashing, teeth biting - snap, snap, snap! Snarling like a fucking dog. I may have pissed myself.”

“I don’t understand,” Michael said.

“Neither did we!” Chris cried. “Aaron tried to choke him out but he just wouldn’t die. We sat there with no clue what to do until a soldier came by and shot him. So technically _we_ didn’t kill him, but that’s how it went down.”

A glum silence.

“Rest in peace, Tony,” Chris said solemnly, and inexplicably made the sign of the cross.

“But he wasn’t bit,” Michael said slowly. “He didn’t die of the fever.”

“You didn’t know?” Aaron asked, and Michael turned to him. “You don’t needa be bitten. Anyone who dies turns, unless they took a blow to the head hard enough to destroy the brain. Thought it was common knowledge. Geoff already knew.”

His name made Michael stiffen; he rose, turning away from the fire, each breath sending a puff of ghostly mist into the night air.

“I didn’t know,” he said, and shivered, arms wrapping around himself. “So we’re all infected.”

“Guess so,” Aaron replied, and Michael stared down at his hands, his nails caked with dirt and blood. Scrubbed them uselessly against his jeans, too-aware of all three pairs of wide, owlish eyes watching him. Waiting to see what he’d do, just like they had been week after week. 

“I’ve got next watch,” he said abruptly, and strode off to meet Ryan - sitting on the edge of the campsite, the glow of the lantern beside him like a will o’ the wisp, leaving the warmth of the fire behind.

-

-

-

**1x02: DO NO EVIL**

“Oh, that’s a big one,” Michael said.

He hung back, watching Chris and Aaron square up to the biters along the fence line. Barbed wire was strung along the log wall that lined the trailer park, interspersed with sharpened wooden stakes pointing out towards the forests. Two biters had impaled themselves and stood flailing and groaning.

“Go on then,” Michael said, his fingers tapping at the knife that stayed in his belt.

Aaron licked his lips nervously. He bounced on his heels a few times, like a boxer, and readied his own weapon - a meat cleaver, the blade sharpened to a razor point, then advanced on one of them.

The stake buckled under the biter’s weight as it squirmed, the sharp wood ripping into its guts and sending a gush of foul, greyish liquid spilling from its abdomen. Aaron darted forward, ducking a swipe from one paw and surging up to drive the cleaver into the side of its head with a yell.

Chris gagged at the spatter of brain across the ground, and Michael thumped him on the shoulder.

“You take that one,” he ordered.

Chris hefted his makeshift spear - but Michael shook his head and pushed it back down, passing Chris his knife.

“You can’t use that thing all the time,” he chided. “Not that I don’t love a good biter-kebab myself, but if you get swarmed by a few it’s not maneuverable enough. By the time you’ve got one stuck on the end of it, the others will be on you. Go on.”

Chris swallowed.

“Oh, jeez,” he whispered. Michael squeezed his shoulder. Chris glanced at him and smiled nervously before taking the knife and practically crab-walking towards the biter. It snarled, milky eyes fixed on him and hands swiping uselessly.

Michael watched, breathless - Chris’ first swipe only caught it across the cheek, a clumsy cut that made yellow fat spill from the wound. The second drove into its skull just behind its ear; it crumpled to the ground.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck,” he said, staggering backwards. He nearly dropped the knife, but Michael caught his hand and took it back.

“You got it!” he said cheerfully, thumping Chris on the shoulder. “Nice job. Now get rid of the bodies.”

“How far?” Chris asked - he _always_ asked.

“Far enough that we don’t gotta smell them,” Michael said, “But close enough that they deter others from coming near the campsite.”

They nodded, and headed off. Michael turned back to the campsite, and as soon as he was a little distance away, he frowned, shoulders slumping.

_God, I need a drink_. The bottles were stashed under the back seat of the bus. He’d been trying to save them, but the last three weeks had been hell. From the moment they left the apartment they’d had to deal with biters blocking the road, clearing out their camp. Michael had been freaking the fuck out internally the whole time, certain that at any moment something would happen - suddenly, the way it had with Geoff, everything falling apart before he even realised it was going wrong.

Chris was the worst part. 

He never complained and he had a sort of endearing, bumbling manner, but the way he _looked_ at Michael - like a lost puppy, hanging on his every word - his instructions had become a substitute for any sort of independent thought, and instead of giving him confidence it only made him feel even more like everything depended on him. 

He took a deep breath and wandered back into the campsite. Three sides of the trailer park were surrounded by their fence of traps, the last was against a rocky cliff face that sloped away into the forest. Five old trailers were scattered around, and the bus - their supply room - was parked nearby.

Barbara was standing on the bus steps, beckoning. Michael followed her in, throwing himself into the driver’s seat.

“How’re they doing?” she asked.

Michael groaned and ground his hands into his eyes.

“That bad, huh?” she said, with sympathetic laugh. Michael didn’t retreat from her clap on the shoulder. Since they left the city, she’d surprised him with her readiness to get shit done. When they encountered biters on the road, she’d been the first out of the bus to help him. 

“No, they’re alright,” he said finally, dropping his hands from his face. “You’re all getting there, actually.”

“So what’s wrong, then?” she asked. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just…” he hesitated. He’d never been one to spill his guts to just anyone - but Barbara was perched on the edge of the seat opposite, leaning forward all earnest-looking. “To be honest, I have no fucking clue what I’m doing. So I got you out of the city - what now?” He threw his hands up. “I’m not a leader. Never have been.”

“You’re doing fine,” she said softly, “Don’t worry.”

“I’m not though!” He gestured, frustrated, at the shabby little trailer park, the meagre defences that had held off one or two biters but not anymore than that. “This was the _easy_ part! It’s only gonna get harder. Protecting you lot, that I can do. Making decisions? Fuck that.”

“Hey,” she cut in, sternly, “If an issue comes up, we’ll talk it through, _all_ of us. Like I said before - you’re not alone. We’re a team.”

She meant well, but Michael couldn’t help thinking there was a lot she still didn’t know about him. He wasn’t so sure she’d trust him if she did. He stayed silent, and after a moment she leaned in closer.

“We’re not about to jump down your throat if you fuck up. You think _any_ of us know what we’re doing? We’re figuring this out together, you just have more experience.”

“Suppose so,” he muttered, and she smiled at him - and didn’t stop, sitting there with a grin that got bigger and bigger until finally he snorted and managed a grin back.

“Alright, you look like the fucking Cheshire Cat, stop that. It’s creepy.”

“Made you smile, though,” she teased. Michael rolled his eyes and twisted to look at the stockpiles of supplies organised neatly on the different seats.

“So what I gotta bring back on this run?” he asked.

“Water filters,” Barbara said, pulling out a list. “Food. And I was thinking, if you find any guns…”

She trailed off, almost shyly, and Michael couldn’t help his raised eyebrow.

“One gunshot attracts ten more walkers,” he said.

“I know, just - I’d feel safer with some around.”

“Do you even know how to shoot?” he demanded.

“Point and click,” she replied with such breezy confidence that he had to laugh.

“Dear God.”

“What? Is that not how it works?”

“Well yeah, but - there’s more to it than that,” he argued, and she raised an eyebrow.

“So teach us! It can’t be that hard.”

“People tend to say that when they have no fucking clue how hard something really is,” he muttered. But he thought of Brown, taking down biters from the rooftops - the more weapons, the better, and a gun had other uses besides. “Add it to the list.”

Barbara grinned wider as she scribbled it down.

“It’s getting colder,” Michael added with a frown. “We’re gonna need more blankets. Hot water bottles too, shit like that. Otherwise it won’t be the biters that get us, it’ll be the cold.”

“We’ll be like frozen ready meals,” Barbara murmured, writing furiously.

“Right,” Michael replied, with a snort.

“Better find us some blankets before we _bite it_. Get it? Get it? Because _biters_?”

“That one was pathetic,” Michael shot back, reaching out and snatching the paper. “You should be ashamed.”

“It wasn’t one of my best,” Barbara admitted, and Michael heaved himself out of his seat.

“Guess I’ll go see if Ryan needs anything,” he said.

Barbara pulled a horrible face that showed _exactly_ what she thought of that, and even Michael had to grimace as he took a deep breath and left the bus.

\---

“Ryan?”

Michael lingered in the trailer doorway, squinting in the dim light. The windows were covered in grime, and only a propped-up torch filled the room with an unsteady glow.

Ryan sat with his back to the door, hunched over a desk, working away. His head lifted when Michael spoke, but he didn’t turn.

“Do you need something?” he asked.

Michael’s jaw clenched, but his voice had a forced joviality, much like a kindergarten teacher driven to the brink by an unruly hoard of five year olds.

“Just wondering if you wanted to come out and have a go fighting a couple of biters with me!” he said, ‘cheerfully.’

“Sounds like you’re doing adequately without me,” Ryan replied, emotionless.

“ _Dude_.” Michael dropped all niceties and marched into the trailer. “You’re the _only one_ who hasn’t learned a fucking thing since we left the apartment! You just sat on the fucking bus and now you just sit in here all day! _”_

Ryan spun around with a glare. In the harsh shadows he looked older, his eyes surrounded by dark lines.

“I’m hardly being unproductive,” he said, icily, and gestured at his workbench, where he was making more bombs and rigging a series of complicated biter traps.

“Yeah,” Michael replied grudgingly, “But does any of that mean shit if we get overrun or split up and you have to fight? Come on, Ryan - what’s the problem?”

“There is no problem,” Ryan snapped, but Michael saw his shoulders hunch a little.

“Is it me?” he demanded. “Because I can get Aaron or Barb to-”

“It’s not you,” Ryan replied, shortly. “You have proven yourself very capable.”

“Then what is it?” Michael demanded. Ryan stared at him for a moment, then turned back around to keep working. Incensed, Michael grabbed his shoulder, spinning him back around. “ _Hey!”_

Ryan whirled around, looking furious for a moment before a calm mask plastered itself over his face again. He threw Michael’s hand off, wrinkling his nose like it was something disgusting.

“There is no need for me to go out there,” he replied, his voice trembling with the effort to keep it tight. “I’m fine in _here_.”

Michael stared at him.

“You’re scared. That’s it, isn’t it?” he said, slowly. “You’re scared of them because you haven’t killed one yet.” 

Ryan’s jaw clenched, and Michael leaned in closer.

“Newsflash, buddy, you don’t _stop_ being scared,” he said. “But once you kill one, the rest is easier. The last thing you wanna do is freeze up when it matters most. _That_ gets you killed. You at least need to be able to take them down.”

Ryan stared at him for a long moment. Finally, he turned away, shoulders stiff as a statue.

“I’m not burdening the group,” he said, flatly. “I’m providing more than most others would. In exchange for that, I think the least you owe me is protection.”

“This isn’t for me, it’s for _you_ ,” Michael tried.

“I’m _fine_ ,” he said, and Michael pressed his lips together and stared at the ceiling. Honestly, he could fucking _scream_.

“You are the _dumbest_ smart person I’ve ever met,” he forced out, through clenched teeth.  Ryan didn’t answer, and Michael clenched his fists and forced himself to breathe calmly for a moment.

Honestly, the worst part was that Ryan was right - he _was_ useful. His bombs had helped them get out of the city undetected and his traps protected the campsite. He was good at MacGyvering up all sorts of gadgets with nothing but scraps. 

That didn’t mean he wasn’t fucking _infuriating_ \- especially since Michael had gotten to know Aaron and Chris and Barbara better. They’d swapped stories about their lives before all this - well, the others had, Michael usually stuck to the relatively safe realms of his pop culture interests - but Ryan? Ryan didn’t make a smidgen of an effort to get to know any of them. 

“You got the shopping list, at least?” Michael demanded finally.

“Here,” Ryan said, and passed him a neatly printed list of various items, divided into subheadings, then turned back to his workbench. 

Michael took it, then paused. He felt like he shouldn’t give up just yet. That’s what a leader was meant to do, right? But he had no idea what to say. The only real idea he was coming up with involved catching a biter and fucking bringing it _into_ Ryan’s trailer to force him to do something about it, but he could think of five thousand ways that would go spectacularly wrong (especially since, you know, the trailer was full of _bombs_ ), and also it was an asshole move.

Before he could think of anything, though, a commotion rang out outside - running footsteps, indistinct shouting. 

“Michael!” Barbara’s voice called, and then she was in the doorway of the trailer, breathless - “Get out here, you gotta see this!”

\---

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

There was pure anger in Michael’s growl as the five of them stood in the centre of the park, staring up at the sky. His fingers drummed a restless pattern against the hilt of his knife. In the distance, above the woods, a mocking slash of red.

_The kite._

He’d had nightmares about it, since that day. He still couldn’t stop wondering where Geoff was now, where his body lay - or if he was out there somewhere, a roaming, mindless shell.

His fists clenched. His eyes burned.

_Someone out there got him killed._

Barbara’s hands were pressed to her mouth; he could see the tears in her eyes, and knew she was thinking about him, too. Chris hovered uncertainly by his other side.

“What should we do?” he asked, finally.

“I wanna know who’s out there,” Michael growled, and gestured angrily at the kite, as though he could bring it down with a swipe of his hand. “If some asshole’s flying that around here, they might bring biters close to our camp. Can’t have that.”

“But what’ll you do when you find them?” Chris insisted.

“Depends who they are,” he grunted, but the anger was a sizzling ball in his chest, and he wasn’t feeling particularly merciful.

Even Ryan had ventured out of his trailer to take a look. He stood, gazing thoughtfully up at it.

“It’s a windy day,” he said, distantly. “Good for kite flying.”

“Thanks, _doctor_ ,” Michael spat, “That’s real fucking insightful!”

Ryan turned to him with cold eyes.

“Whoever’s flying that thing isn’t so much aiming to _lead_ biters somewhere as they are trying to attract them _away_ from certain areas,” he said, slowly, like he was spelling it out for a child. “I’d say there’s more than one group involved, and they’re using that to clear another area for their friends to get in. I’d wager,” he continued, stiffly, “That their current goal is to clear the road leading to the nearby town by drawing the biters into the forest instead.”

That made sense, and Michael could only sort of stand there, swallowing, while Ryan stared him down.

“Well,” he grunted finally, “I’m gonna go find out who the fuck it is. Aaron, you come with me. Barb, too.”

They were the two most capable fighters, hence his choice. Chris was shuffling his feet and glancing about, which either meant he desperately needed the toilet or he was feeling pretty apprehensive about Michael’s decision.

“Chris, Ryan, that means you guys hold the fort back here,” he continued. “Think you can do that?”

“Oooh, boy,” Chris said, nervously. It really did nothing for Michael’s confidence. “I think so? I’ll just keep an eye out and if any get too close to the traps I’ll _stab ‘em_.” 

This punctuated by what Michael could only assume was a vigorous re-enactment of the death of Julius Caesar involving an imaginary knife and Aaron, who was standing closest. He nodded dubiously and turned to Ryan.

“ _Help him out,_ ” he ordered, firmly. “We’ll be back before dark.”

Ryan just sort of stared at him, which was not particularly reassuring - but Michael didn’t have time to argue about it. His blood was boiling every time he looked up at the sky, and he stalked off, the other two grabbing their weapons and hurrying after him.

To be honest, even though Michael’s heart was racing with apprehension, he was rather unsure what he would actually _do_ when they found whoever these people were. 

_Damn wish I had a gun now,_ he thought grimly - biters were one thing, humans quite another. And if Ryan was right, it wasn’t just one person, it was another group. But one thing was for sure, they couldn’t ignore this, and they marched off into the forest, the campsite soon vanishing behind them.

The national park was big; a mountainous ridge took up one side of it, the other sloped towards the river that skirted the back end of AC. Their camp was somewhere between the two, and because it was part of the official camping grounds, it was surrounded by trails that were fairly easy to traverse. From here, they could see the red kite above them, drifting in the distance, not obscured by the trees just yet.

Barbara and Aaron were quiet behind him, but when he glanced back they looked concerned, and he could tell they were able to sense his simmering anger. Barbara caught his eyes.

“Michael,” she whispered.

“Whoever’s out there,” he blurted, “It’s their fault Geoff’s dead!”

“They didn’t do it deliberately,” Barbara pointed out. She sounded worried, and not about the kite-fliers. About him.

_She should be_ , he thought grimly, and the memories rushed back in an incoherent flash - _broken glass, sharp liquor on the back of his tongue, the psychedelic flashes of the pub lights, the sirens, the thud as the body hit the floor - you’ve got an ugly temper when you drink, Jones -_ he shook himself. 

They veered off the path after a while. Presently, they broke into a clearing.

“Where’s it gone?” Michael demanded, striding into the centre of the space and craning his neck, searching for red between the trees.

“Shhh!” Aaron hissed suddenly. “I hear something.”

They all froze. The wind was so loud it was hard to tell - but a moment later Michael realised he was right; he could hear footsteps in the undergrowth.

“Biters?” he suggested, pulling his knife. They shifted a little closer together. But no, he realised - they were moving far too quickly, and a moment later he saw distant figures in the undergrowth.

“Shit, other humans,” Barbara whispered. “We should talk to them, right? They might be-”

He frantically shushed her, his heart pounding - but they were too late to hide. A moment later, four men crashed into the clearing only to stumble to a halt. Their eyes met and all of them froze, clearly as stunned to see Michael’s group as they were to see them.

A second later, Michael’s blood ran cold.

Two looked similar; dark hair and dark eyes, muscular builds, one holding a gun and the other a knife. Another lingered away from the rest of the group; a sturdy, nordic looking man, with blonde hair and eyes like pieces of glittering coal.

But it was the man at the front of the group that made Michael’s stomach sink and dismay weigh heavily in his chest. He was smaller than the others, and very, very familiar.

“Shit,” he whispered - green eyes met his, and he saw them widen and the man’s shoulders stiffen as he clearly recognised Michael too.

\---

_It's him._

The moment his eyes locked onto the other man's, Gavin froze. He could tell from the look on the other guy's face that he recognised him too. He didn't seem angry, not the way he had back in the bus depot - just shocked.

Gavin should probably feel scared. After all, his bruises had faded by now, but back there, the man's face... all twisted and ferocious... he could have killed him. 

But he wasn’t scared at all.

Maybe because the other man wasn't alone this time - the man and woman with him looked more nervous than anything; had lowered their weapons when Gavin entered the clearing. His first instinct was that they weren't dangerous.

Gavin's group, on the other hand - in his peripheral he saw them stiffen. Flynt inched closer to the rest of the group.

"Who the fuck-" he began, but Gavin raised a hand and cut him off. Dan began raising his gun, and Gavin pushed it back down with his other hand. He saw the man's eyes track every movement. When they turned back to his, he gave a small smile.

"Hi," he said. "Nice to see you again."

"Again?" Edgar piped up behind him. "You know this guy?"

Gavin didn't bother shushing him, mostly because he was the only one he trusted not to do something stupid and escalate the situation - but he could tell the man's companions were equally confused.

"Michael?" the woman asked.

_Michael. So that's his name._ It suited him somehow, his rugged face and the determined set of his jaw. It was a strong name.

Right now, _Michael’s_ glare didn't falter.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, voice just as suspicious as it had been back at the depot.

"I told you that I had a group in the forest," Gavin replied, easily, and spread an arm out. "And here we are. In the forest. So you were coming here all along? Dude, we could've just shared the bus!"

"The bus?" Dan demanded, and Gavin winced - he shoved past Gavin's outstretched arm and gave Michael a look that could kill. "Are you telling me this is the asshole that beat you up?"

"Beat him up?" Michael's male companion asked, staring at him.

"Why are they all British?" the woman added.

"Wait, so this is the guy you ran into?" Flynt cried, and stepped forward, drawing his knife. _"Fucking_ hell-"

"Everyone calm down!" Gavin waved his arms frantically; he could see Michael growing edgy, although he'd made no move yet - was standing there bristling like a cornered wolf. "Yes, it's him, but-"

"But what? We're gonna just stand here and stare at them?" Dan snapped.

"Dan," Gavin hissed, warningly. "Let me handle this."

Dan stared at him for a moment, then backed down. A second later, Flynt followed. Gavin took a shaky breath.

He was more nervous than he was showing, his heart fluttering in his chest. Michael hadn't listened to him last time; reasoning had been useless.

"Michael," the woman said slowly, "Do you know these guys? What's going on?"

"We met earlier," Michael said, still staring at Gavin. "He wanted the bus for his group, too."

"I was happy to negotiate back then," Gavin added, calmly. "I still am."

Someone kept poking him in the back - probably Dan - Gavin ignored them, swallowing his frustration. Seriously, did they think he _wanted_ to be pals with the guy’d beaten the shit out of him? He didn't! But he wanted to avoid a confrontation at all costs and sometimes that meant burying the hatchet, no matter how he personally felt about it.

Michael was silent for a long moment. He hadn't raised his knife, but Gavin was still tense waiting for his next move.

"Why?" he asked finally.

"There's no hard feelings," Gavin replied, "I'm not interested in wasting time holding onto a grudge. And I have no desire to create unnecessary conflicts when we have enough problems with the dead already."

"Hardly unnecessary," Dan muttered. Gavin ignored him.

"I don't believe you," Michael snarled. "Give me one good reason to think you aren't intending to fuck over my group at the first opportunity."

His two companions were starting to look pretty fucking alarmed, Gavin noticed, with wry amusement. He took a step forward - Michael's shoulders stiffened - and lifted his jumper enough to show the gun underneath.

"I had this back at the depot," he said, and couldn't help relishing the shock that flashed in Michael's eyes. "I could’ve shot you back there. I could've shot you now. But I didn't, because I'm not your enemy. You're not mine. These bullets are for the dead.”

Michael stared at him and Gavin stared back. He hoped the other man could see he was in earnest. A moment later, Michael put his knife down and everyone relaxed a little - Gavin nodded at his group, and they lowered their weapons grudgingly. He stepped forward and held out a hand. Michael regarded it as though it was going to grow teeth and bite him.

"Michael, is it?" Gavin asked. "I'm Gavin. That's Dan, Edgar, and Flynt."

Michael continued to glare at him - but the girl stepped forward and shook Gavin's hand instead.

"I'm Barbara," she said hesitantly, "That's Aaron. Thank you."

"Don't need to thank me," Gavin said - just one glance made it pretty clear that of the three, she was the most likely to be reasoned with. "Our camp's a little distance away. We've been in the area for about two months now. I'm guessing you're here because of our kite-flying friends over there."

Michael's head snapped up.

"You know em?" he demanded.

"Know of them," Gavin said, and grimaced, stretching to look up at the sky again. He couldn't make out the kite any more, but he could hear a faint, annoying tinkling in the distance. "They've been a bloody nuisance the last few weeks. At first it was just in the city, but since they've taken to flying that damn thing out here, they're attracting more stiffs to the area."

"Who are they?" Barbara demanded, eagerly.

"Not sure," Gavin replied, "That's what we chased this thing for. I have an idea where their forest base is, but I've never caught them there. I'm hoping to track them down and reason with them."

"Reason with them!" Michael scoffed, and Gavin turned to him with a cold look.

"Have you got a better idea?" he asked.

Michael scowled at him for a moment before turning away. His hand was back on his knife and Gavin had an uncomfortable idea of what, exactly, his 'better idea' might be.

"They've ruined a few runs of mine," Gavin continued, "So I can't let this continue. I'm hoping they just don't realise there are other survivors in the area. The kite idea is smart, so whoever they are, they know what they're doing. If we can, it'd be good to work with them. For now, I think since we're both investigating the situation, it'd be safer to stick together. Less unknown variables."

"Gav," Dan said quietly - this time, Gavin did turn. They could read each other like an open book, and now all it took was one look for him to tell what Dan was thinking.

_We can't trust them._

Maybe not, but in that case Gavin would rather they were in his line of sight and on marginally good terms rather than somewhere else and out to get them. He tapped Dan quickly on the arm - _trust me_ \- after a moment his friend gave a small nod, even if he didn't look happy.

"I dunno," Michael grunted finally. "Whoever these guys are, their little kite running business has cost us a lot."

He was trying to sound tough, but Gavin caught the waver in his voice. Despite himself, he felt a flash of sympathy.

"Your group is small. Do you even have guns?" One look at their faces and he had his answer. "We do. On the off chance that they are hostile, it's safer for all of us to go together. I can't force you, of course."

"I think it's better to part ways, then," Michael said immediately.

Barbara looked pained, and even Aaron was shifting awkwardly. They clearly disagreed, but before they could say anything, Flynt was shoving his way past Gavin to square up against Michael himself.

"Right, so what I'm hearing is you assholes are planning to fuck off without giving us the time of day after beating the shit out of our leader and stealing our bus!" he hissed.

Gavin stiffened. Flynt was... _volatile_ at the best of times. Some people would argue he should never have taken him in. From what Gavin had managed to coax out of him, he'd had his fair share of problems before the apocalypse, with everything ranging from relationships to employment to his family to the _law_ , but he could hardly blame the guy for flying off the rails when he'd seen his entire last group eaten by stiffs in front of him. 

That shit changed you, he could see it in Flynt's eyes. And he was fine, most of the time, but right now there was a dangerous edge to his voice and Michael must've noticed. He straightened up, yanking his own knife out of his belt. He was a good six inches shorter but he got up in Flynt's face without a second thought.

"Wasn't _your_ bus, asshole," he spat back.

Flynt's fist drew back, but Gavin was already rushing between them. He pushed at Flynt's chest - betting on the fact that he was way less likely to get punched by him than he was if he tried to touch Michael - sending him stumbling back a pace before he put his hands up, fending both of them off. For a bizarre moment, he felt like Chris Pratt in _Jurassic World._

"Just - calm down for two seconds, yeah? _Calm down,_ " he repeated, meeting Michael's blazing eyes, a plea in it. _This time, listen to me. This time, just_ listen.

Michael was glowering, but he didn't swing at Gavin with his knife, which was a small improvement, right?

"Flynt," Gavin said, pointedly, "Put that down. The bus is old news. We don't need it anymore. _I'm_ the one who got hurt. If I say it's water under the bridge, it is. Look," he added, glancing around at everyone, "I don't think anyone here wants a fight. I'm making it pretty fucking clear that _I_ don't! Running into other humans in this Godforsaken world should be a relief, not something that only causes more trouble. I'm trying my bloody best here."

"I know," Barbara said quietly, "Thank you. Really. Michael, I think it's better to go with them."

Michael backed off a little. He turned to her with a pained look, but Aaron was already nodding and stepping forward.

"I agree," he said quietly. "If they're not a threat to us, why not investigate together?"

"If we're all in _agreement,"_ Barbara continued, something pointed in it, "We should get going before that kite disappears."

Michael hesitated - then the fight seemed to drain out of him. 

"Fine," he said stiffly, "Let's go see who these assholes are, then."

"Excellent," Gavin murmured. "And I assure you, no one's threatening anyone else here. Barbara's right, we should get going before we lose them."

He led the way, hoping that would at least help to gain a little trust. As they set off, quietly, he took a moment to let out a shaky breath.

_You're fine. They seem like a group that can be reasoned with. Just keep going and they'll come around. They have to._

"What the fuck are you doing?" Flynt hissed, jogging up next to him. "They took our stuff before! You told us where their campsite is; we have the upper hand-"

"The upper hand to do _what?"_ Gavin whispered back. "Just leave it, Flynt, we'll talk about it later."

Flynt fell back bitterly. A moment later, Edgar was next to him, hand brushing reassuringly over Gavin’s back.

"You got this," he murmured, but was walking off before Gavin could turn to look at him. What he did see was Dan watching them intently, but he thankfully didn't start a conversation with him, too. They were all too aware of the other group trailing behind them suspiciously.

Gavin was familiar with these woods by now, and it helped that he knew where the road was. He picked his way easily through the undergrowth, the others following along until finally the trees began to thin. He could see the kite - hovering over the main road - and crept forward. Hidden behind thick bushes, he peered out, the others clustering next to him. Michael had pushed his way to the front; Gavin could hear him breathing heavily beside him.

"Fuck, there's a lot of ‘em," he whispered, and Gavin could only nod.

Five men and women stood next to a big jeep. One was coiling up the string of the kite, and it slowly lowered from the sky; he caught it. It took two of them to fold it up. They were hardened looking figures, and even from here Gavin could see they were well armed. All of them had pistols and one had a rifle strapped to his back.

They were talking to each other, and quite loudly too - but in a language that Gavin couldn't understand.

"What the fuck is that?" Michael continued. "Italian?"

"It's not Italian," Gavin whispered, "It's Greek. Dan?" 

"Don't fucking ask me," Dan hissed, "You think I remember any of that shit? I know numbers and animals, that's it."

"You came top of the class!"

"Yeah, in year eight!"

Gavin sighed, turning back to the conversation. One woman had pulled out a walkie-talkie now, and was listening to someone on the other end. Finally, she nodded and began to bark orders to the others.

"Ryan was right," Michael muttered. "There's two packs of them."

"What's the plan?" Dan asked, and Gavin turned. He caught Michael's eyes and they stared at each other awkwardly.

"I think I'll go out there and talk to them alone," Gavin whispered.

_"Fuck no,"_ Dan and Michael said in unison.

"You're not going alone," Dan began, but Michael was shaking his head, too.

"They have a shitload of guns, there's heaps of them, and look at their truck. There's a ton of bags in there. They're hoarding supplies."

"Or they have a big group somewhere they need to feed," Gavin pointed out. "What's your bright idea, then?"

"We send them a warning of some kind. Stop with that kite shit or else. We shouldn't reveal ourselves to them, not yet."

"Um," Barbara began, but Michael turned to her.

"These do not look like nice people."

"How do you know?" Gavin snapped. "Because they have more weapons than you? Because you can't understand what they're saying? They look like a family," he added, "The ages, the facial features, the way they're talking to each other. They're a family who happen to be well armed, who are operating very strategically. Why not ask them nicely to leave? What harm can it do?"

"What harm? Well for a start, if it turns out they’re _not_ nice then they know there’s a group nearby to be got rid of,” Michael hissed back. “If there _is_ a fight, we’re fucked! Better to keep the element of surprise. Unless,” he added darkly, “You’re hiding a shit ton of weapons I know nothing about.”

He’d leaned in close enough that Gavin was uncomfortable, and he clenched his jaw, ready to snap back-

“Guys!” Barbara whispered.

“What?” Michael asked, not turning.

“They’re leaving,” she pointed out, “Also, if the kite draws biters here…”

Gavin swore under his breath, kicking himself. Barbara was right; the family was climbing into their jeep, ready to head off, and in the distance he could see silhouettes shambling down the road.

“Fuck, we gotta get out of here.” He scrambled to his feet. “We can catch them later, at their hideout. Let’s continue this conversation at your camp.”

“Excuse me?” Michael demanded, grabbing his arm. “ _Our_ camp?”

“It’s closer,” Gavin said, and shook him off, “And I’d rather we all stay on the same page, so we should come up with a plan together.”

“You know where our camp is?” Michael pressed, getting up as well. He took a step towards Gavin, and Dan took a step towards him, warningly.

Gavin didn’t flinch, staring him in the eye.

“I’ve known for a few days, mate,” he pointed out, “I saw your traps on a run. I didn’t realise it was _you_ , but I knew a new group was in the area and thought there was no sense in starting trouble yet. I was planning to make contact after scoping you out a bit more.”

Michael didn’t seem to know what to say, and Gavin couldn’t help his small grin.

“Trust me yet?” he asked. “Let’s go.”

He headed off. In his peripheral, he saw Barbara tug at Michael’s arm; he still seemed hesitant, but he didn’t kick up a fuss, just followed along.

Gavin swallowed a sigh of relief. His heart was pounding, and his smile was strained, but he didn’t let it show. The trick, after all, was _looking_ very sure of what you were doing.

\---

Dan fell back alongside him as they continued on through the forest. Michael’s group was leading the way now, trudging in a grim silence. Michael kept glancing back, suspiciously, but Gavin wasn’t worried about that. He’d sent Flynt back to their own camp to update his group on the situation, so that was one issue dealt with. 

“I’m not gonna fight about this right now,” he said, when he noticed Dan staring at him. “There’s a chance we can work with them. A chance is enough. You _know_ why I do things like this.”

“That’s not what I was gonna pick a fight about,” Dan replied, a teasing note in his voice. Gavin side-eyed him suspiciously.

“What?”

“You and Edgar,” Dan said, gleefully. Gavin stiffened.

“What _about_ me and Edgar?” he demanded.

His gaze drifted, involuntarily, to the other man. Edgar was wandering a little distance away. He’d picked up a big stick somewhere along the way, and was stabbing at the ground, a little smirk on his face like he was off in his own world. They’d picked him up early on - a recent Cambridge law graduate who’d been holidaying here when things fell apart. He was a bit of a toff, reminded Gavin of the boys at his and Dan’s school who were part of things like the _yachting_ club, whose parents came from old money and who were proud of it. So yeah, he had a bit of a dickish streak, but so far he’d seemed happy for Gavin to take charge, so as far as he was concerned, there was no problem to be found.

“That’s my _question_ ,” Dan insisted. “What happened between you?”

“What makes you think something happened?” Gavin demanded, but he’d always been a bad liar.

“He’s touching you a lot. He didn’t used to before. And you don’t usually let people.”

Gavin stiffened. It was true, he’d noticed it as well. Nothing overt, just that the other man was more comfortable standing closer to him, casually brushing a hand along his arm or down his back.

“Oh my God,” Dan said, his sharp eyes missing nothing. “You guys had a thing!”

Michael glanced back again. Gavin accidentally caught his eyes and looked away, embarrassed.

“If by a _thing_ you mean a one-time-thing-that-will-not-be-repeated, then sure,” he hissed, shoulders tensing. “It was a mistake. It’s not happening again.”

“Oh my God, Gavin, really, though? But he’s such a _prick_!”

“He’s alright,” Gavin grumbled.

“He _is_ , and you know it! He always looks like he’s secretly laughing at everyone around him.”

“He’s the only one who wasn’t giving me trouble back there,” Gavin chided. “Like I said. It was nothing. We were drinking, and… and things escalated, I don’t - we were just letting off some steam.”

Dan’s eyebrows rose, and Gavin’s shoulders hunched.

“It’s not a good idea nowadays, anyway,” he said. “I don’t need any distractions.”

“Right,” Dan said, and Gavin couldn’t help glancing at him, a little apprehensive - scared of his disapproval even if he’d never admit it. But Dan just thumped him on the back. “Did he have a big cock?”

“Dan!”

“‘cause he acts like someone who thinks he’s got a much bigger cock than he actually does.”

“Look,” Gavin muttered, “The weather’s been very cold recently.”

“Oh my _God_ , he has a small cock. I knew it!”

“Why are you so interested?” Gavin laughed, elbowing him. Dan squirmed away. It was good to smile; it’d been a hard few weeks.

“Speaking of dicks,” Dan said, his voice dropping lower, “That Michael’s a prick.”

“Bloody hell, is he ever,” Gavin agreed, side-eyeing him. Michael was hacking branches out of his way with his knife, each movement a violent jerk that made Gavin fight a flinch. “But his group seems decent. I think we can work with this. Just gotta find out more about them - and show them more about us. Once he knows we’re for real, he might come around.”

\---

Honestly, the impression Gavin was getting of the other group so far was that they were disorganised, rash, and had very little idea what they were actually doing - but even he had to admit that they had a good thing going at their camp. He could see quite a few rotting biter corpses that had met an unhappy ending in their traps.

The place seemed quiet. One young man on watch sprang up when they approached.

“You’re back!” he called, only to freeze as he counted the number of people, and turned to Michael for explanation. Michael leaned in to mutter something in his ear; he cast them a fearful glance before retreating into the bus and shutting the door behind him.

_Guarding their supplies,_ Gavin noted - they weren’t being very subtle about it. He could hardly blame them - he was feeling pretty wary, despite himself. His people might have guns, but they were still in someone else’s territory. Anything could be lurking in those dark trailers.

“Keep watch out here,” Michael ordered Aaron, who nodded. He led them into another a trailer, mostly empty inside and smelling of dust and mildew, the afternoon sun filtering weakly through smudged windows. Gavin grimaced as he sat down on a stool.

Barbara hovered awkwardly. A moment later, she inched up to Gavin, a bit timidly.

“Can I get you something to eat or drink?” she asked.

Gavin frowned, confused. _No one acts like this anymore. Who are these guys?_

“It’s sweet of you to offer, but I don’t want to take your group’s resources. We’re fine. Thank you, though.”

“Barb,” Michael snapped, and shot her a look. “C’mon.”

“What?” she shot back. “They’re guests.”

“They are _not_ guests,” he insisted, and jerked his head at the chair next to him. She loped over and sat down, looking unsettled.

Michael leaned forward, gaze fixed on Gavin’s and brows furrowed.

“I think it’s stupid to assume they’ll listen,” he said bluntly. “You shouldn’t trust people so easily.”

“I don’t trust them,” Gavin shot back, “But I like to give people the benefit of the doubt. If we go in guns blazing, it’s _certain_ to end badly. I’d rather not piss them off right away.”

“And if it turns out they _are_ bad?” Michael sneered. “What’s your plan then?”

“We avoid them,” Gavin said, “And move to a different area.”

“So run away!” Michael scoffed. “That’s it?”

“What’s so good about here that you want to stay?” Gavin demanded.

There was a long silence, which he could only assume meant Michael couldn’t think of a good counter argument. This was only confirmed when he finally leaned back in his chair and came out with, in a petty sneer, “You’re right about one thing. You _don’t_ have any sense of self preservation.”

“Couldn’t we try talking to them?” Barbara cut in, tentatively. “It’s good to give people a chance. I know,” she added, when Michael turned to her incredulously, “It sounds stupid, but… usually if you reach out with kindness first, people respond to it.”

Oh, Gavin _liked_ her - he smiled, but she wasn't looking, reaching out to touch Michael’s arm insistently.

“It’s what Geoff used to do.”

Whatever pacifying effect she’d been hoping for, it backfired; Michael’s face clouded over and he snatched his arm away.

“Geoff is fucking _dead_ because those assholes didn’t think about anyone other than themselves!” he spat. “We should intimidate them out of the forest. Show them we mean business.”

“And what exactly do we _have_ to mean business with?” Edgar piped up. He was standing just behind Gavin’s chair, arms folded, that particular flat, smug lawyer’s smile on his face. 

Michael stared at him before his dark eyes turned back to Gavin.

“They’re smart,” he said, “But we are too. You’ve seen our traps. Got our own fucking tricks up our sleeve. Explosives, fire, make it seem like there’s more of us than there really are.”

“You want to blow them up,” Gavin said flatly.

“No,” Michael snapped, “I’m not saying _kill_ them, just drive them out of the forest.”

[Gavin swallowed hard. He felt like too many eyes in the room were on him, waiting for him to respond, and took a moment to close his eyes and breathe, to think of an answer.](https://www.strawpoll.me/15175849)

“What’s so good about here,” he repeated slowly, “That you want to stay?”

“If we don’t come out on top, then we’re on the bottom,” Michael fired back. “And if you haven’t noticed, that’s not a nice place to be nowadays when there’s no one around looking out for the little guy.”

“There’s us,” Gavin said, perhaps a little too fiercely. Michael’s raised eyebrow made him feel like he’d said something very silly, but he pushed on. “I know you don’t trust me, but our group operates differently from some others nowadays. We don’t mess with others. Everyone deserves to live.”

He saw Barbara’s eyes widen, and Michael flinch a little. They glanced at each other, like the words meant something that Gavin didn’t understand. But after a moment Michael bit his lip, and turned back to him.

“That attitude will get you killed,” he growled. “You know what I’ve heard? I’ve heard of groups that catch other humans just to use as bait. I’ve heard of people being shot down over resources, of groups that pick off the most useless if there isn’t enough food for everyone.”

“Heard from who?” Dan demanded with a snort.

“A friend of mine, asshole,” Michael snapped, “A friend who narrowly got out of a gang just like that.”

He sounded genuine, and that, Gavin knew, was going to make it even harder to convince him. Still; he felt like he was running up against a brick wall here, and it was exhausting.

“If you don’t trust anyone, you’ll end up on your own,” he said tiredly, and ran a hand over his face. “Let me talk to them first, reason with them if I can. If they refuse, I’ll back off and you’re free to do what you want. _After_ that.”

There was a long pause. He could see Michael mulling it over. Barbara was staring intently at the side of his head, and after a moment she squeezed his shoulder. That seemed to jolt him awake; he met Gavin’s eyes and he saw that the other man was just as tired.

“That’s an okay compromise to me,” he grunted, and Gavin resisted the urge to slump in relief.

“Great,” he said. “Let’s leave some time for the dead to disperse before we go out looking for them. It’ll take a while for the road to clear and sunset’s usually the best time to move. Something about the light makes it harder for the stiffs to see.”

“Fine,” Michael grunted, and Gavin rose, stretching. He beckoned his people close; Dan’s lips were pressed together unhappily, Edgar was unruffled as usual.

“Head back to camp,” he whispered to Edgar. “Get Flynt and two others and bring them here.”

“Got it,” Edgar nodded, and headed out. Dan met Gavin’s eyes, but after a moment he just turned to the others.

“Got a bathroom around here?” he asked, flatly.

“I’ll take you,” Barbara said, and they left together.

The trailer felt very quiet with just him and Michael standing there. There was something eerie about it; the inch of dust piled up on the floor, the cobwebs hanging thick in the corners. The barrenness was somehow terrible, reminded Gavin of how odd it seemed to walk completely empty streets in once bustling suburbs.

They lingered, eyeing each other warily, waiting for someone to make the first move.

“I beat you up,” Michael said, finally. “Anyone with sense wouldn’t forgive me so easily.”

Gavin looked down, scuffing his foot along the ground, tracing aimless patterns in the dirt.  He hadn’t slept much last night, and it was dizzying trying to focus on any one thought. _No hard feelings doesn’t mean I forgave you_ and _you’re not the first person to hurt me_ and _I know why you did it. Doesn’t make it okay, but I do understand_.

“What did you do before all this?” he asked instead.

Michael looked taken aback.

“What?”

“What did you do?” Gavin insisted, and looked up at him curiously. “Before everything fell apart. How’d you end up leading this group? It’s not easy,” he added, with a wry smile, “Being the one in charge.”

Michael stared at him. Something flickered in his eyes before he blinked it away; Gavin wondered if he felt as sick and heavy as he did.

“What does _before_ matter now?” Michael snapped finally. “ _Before_ is dead. All that’s left is surviving.”

“That’s no way to live,” Gavin murmured.

“How about you?” Michael demanded, a mocking twist in his voice. “Why are you in charge? Why do they listen to that shit you spout about treating everyone _nicely_? If you’ve been out here for months, you should know better.”

He could rise to the bait, but he was too tired. Instead, Gavin ran his hands over his face and _laughed_.

“God, I don’t even know how I ended up in charge. Some days I wish I wasn’t. Sometimes, when you’re the only one who manages to keep calm, people assume you know what the fuck you’re doing.”

He leaned back against the wall. It was strange, being around Michael with none of the others there - he could see the same lines of stress that he wore on the other man’s face. With no one watching them, _expecting_ anything - they were both so tired.

“You’re right you know,” Gavin heard himself say. “I’m not blind. I know people are dangerous nowadays. I know that the world collapsing has… has given a lot of people the chance to do shit they usually wouldn’t. The stiffs aren’t the only monsters out there. But I learned, a long time ago…”

He trailed off. Michael was staring at him and he suddenly felt very self conscious. The urge to shut his mouth and stop embarrassing himself was strong, but - _no, keep going, even if your voice is shaking - what do you have to be ashamed of? The world doesn’t end until you lose yourself_.

“When people are cruel to you,” he continued softly, “When everything just - piles on and nearly breaks you… you can let it turn you cruel as well, or you can choose to respond with kindness. One of those makes the world a better place and one doesn’t. Even now.”

He met Michael’s eyes, shyly, only to freeze. The other man looked like he’d seen a ghost; his face was white and he was staring at Gavin like he was seeing someone else. Then he shook himself and turned away. Gavin saw him swallow hard.

“That shit belongs on a fucking fridge magnet,” he growled, and Gavin flinched. 

“I vowed long ago to never let it turn me cruel, too,” he said fiercely, but he could hear the tremble in his voice. “And I haven’t. I want to keep it that way. Maybe you think it’s stupid or - or naive, but it’s what I live by. You need something like that. Something to hold on to.”

Michael didn’t answer, but the look he was giving Gavin was full of such contempt that he couldn’t stand it anymore. He got up to leave, abruptly. He thought he might cry if he didn’t. He hadn’t cried since this all started.

“You’ve done a good job securing this camp, Michael,” he added quietly as he headed for the door. One last attempt to be nice.

“What did _you_ do before all this?” Michael called out, right as he reached the door. Gavin froze.

“So _now_ you’re curious?” he asked, and Michael was silent, but Gavin could tell he wanted to know. He managed a small smile. “Maybe you’ll find out at some point. If things work out.”

He didn’t look back as he left. His hands were shaking, and he tugged his sleeves down over them, wrapping his arms around himself as he paused outside the trailer. _Just breathe. You’re doing fine._

He didn’t like Michael.

He was abrasive, and rough, and reminded Gavin too much of the sort of people who used to make his life miserable.

But there was something broken in the other man’s eyes - something that made him feel like there was a _chance_ that they could figure things out. Something that made him not want to give up on this, not just yet, at least.

\---

Ryan lay on his bed in the dark trailer. He could hear something going on outside - voices, unfamiliar ones. The possibilities raced through his head. Maybe their camp was being overrun by another group. Or maybe it was new ‘allies’ - if they could even trust anyone these days.

He opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling. In the dim light he counted the knots in the wood, trying to wish away the tightness in his chest that’d been there since this all started. Every day felt like a waking nightmare, something still not quite real about the whole situation. He wasn’t cut out for this world, he thought glumly. Sometimes he almost wished he’d gotten sick at the start with everyone else who’d managed to blissfully miss out on this shitfest. It would be a lot fucking easier.

He didn’t mean that. He was more scared of death than he was of anything else.

_Pathetic_.

The scuff of footsteps outside, approaching his trailer, made him sit up. _Probably Michael_. He grit his teeth - the other man’s presence irked him, and it wasn’t just because he was clearly more violent than the others realised - God, could they not _see_ it? Was everyone blind except him? It was a miracle he’d come back to help them in the first place, and since then it was like having an unleashed wild dog around. Things were gonna get ugly at some point, he just knew it.

But no, even he had to admit that it wasn’t just that. Michael was brash, and strong, and _brave_ \- clearly the best survivor of all of them - Michael didn’t let anyone push him around. He took no one’s shit, he’d launch himself into danger without a second thought. When the bus hit biters out on the road, he’d been the first one out there while Ryan sat, stunned, watching through the window as he took on the monsters. Hacking and swiping, teeth bared like some barbarian warrior as the window was slowly spattered with blood and gore.

Not like Ryan.

Ryan, who’d sat paralysed, feeling small and weak.

Michael was everything he wanted to be. Everything he _was_ in his imaginings, when he sat replaying long dead events over and over in his mind - _you should have said this, done that_. Maybe he was jealous - so what? It didn’t change the fact that here he was now, huddled in the dark where for now, at least, it was _safe_ \- for now he didn’t have to face the outside and how woefully ill equipped he was for it. He was _nothing_ out here, just like he’d been nothing before. This time, the consequence was just a slow and painful death. 

The footsteps came right up the steps to his trailer door. Then the handle began to turn.

“Michael!” Ryan called out, irritated. “I told you, I’m not going out there-”

He trailed off as the man entered. It wasn’t Michael. It was a stranger who walked into the room, and Ryan slipped off the bed, staggering backwards, a thrill of fear shooting through his chest.

The man was tall - as tall as him and a few years younger. He was handsome, with a square jaw and broad shoulders, and looked very sure of himself as he strode in, hands planted on his hips and staring around like he was inspecting his own new house. His eyes fell on the traps and bombs that Ryan had been working on.

“Well!” he declared, jovially. “Where the magic happens, huh?”

“Who are you?” Ryan demanded. He tried to sound cold, but even he could hear the fear in his voice, and when the man turned towards him his hand scrabbled uselessly at the bedside table next to him. He had no weapon - hadn’t wanted one, as many times as Michael tried to push a knife into his hand. He could see the other man had one, a big one, too, hanging at his belt.

“Oh, didn’t you get the memo?” the man asked, stepping towards him. “Our groups are working together now - temporarily, at least. Despite the fact that your Michael thought it’d be a good idea to beat up our leader. Guess we’re just the forgiving type.” He gave a taunting sort of laugh. “What’s your name, then?”

Silence. Ryan swallowed, his mouth very dry, unsure what to do. Then the man rested a hand on his knife - a casual gesture, but it made Ryan stiffen.

“Ryan,” he stammered, “Doctor Ryan Haywood.”

“ _Doctor!_ A man of _education_ ,” the man said, in a faux-pretentious voice, and laughed to himself. He was being mocked, Ryan knew, had heard it enough times to tell in an instant. “Doctors, lawyers, we’ve got ourselves a fucking university over here! I’m Edgar,” he threw over his shoulder, and walked to the workbench. “You made these, huh?”

He picked up one of the bombs and turned it over - then took off his backpack and put it inside.

“You can’t,” Ryan began desperately, stepping towards him only to freeze when Edgar looked up.

“Can’t what?” he sneered. “Can’t take this shit because it’s yours? You gonna stop me?”

Ryan swallowed hard. His heart was racing and he wondered, desperately, where the others were.

“Did Michael say you could have those?” he managed to force out, as Edgar reached for another bomb.

“No,” Edgar replied, and gazed at him steadily. “You gonna tell him that you just stood here and let me take them?”

Ryan stood helplessly, his fists clenching. He heard voices outside - Michael’s among them, and wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or nervous - but no one was coming in here. He didn’t know what to do. This was clearly a dangerous man and he was backed into a corner.

Edgar's eyes widened.

“Oh my God,” he said, “You _are_ just gonna stand here and let me take them! Really?”

He looked him up and down, and Ryan stood there, fists clenched, burning with shame.

_Stop him._

_Reach out and stop him - grab his wrist, yell at him, swear at him, call for Michael. Pick up one of those bombs and threaten him with it. Tell him_ no.

_He won’t listen._

Ryan could see exactly how each of those scenarios ended - with him lying on the floor, humiliated, stabbed or punched or shot or any number of gruesome possibilities, because he _wouldn’t win_ \- this wasn’t a fight he should start, and so he wouldn’t. He would stand here watching Edgar take their bombs and traps and stuff them in his own bag, one after another, until the workbench was empty.

“Thanks,” Edgar said brightly, hefting the bag onto his shoulders again.

“Did your leader tell you to take our shit?” Ryan growled.

“Gavin? God, no! This goes against all his moral sensibilities. We each provide for the group in our own way,” Edgar replied, airily. “But he doesn’t have to know about it. Just like, I’m sure, Michael doesn’t have to know this happened, because I’m guessing he won’t take too kindly to it.”

He was right, Ryan thought miserably. Michael would be fucking furious if he knew Ryan had stood here like an idiot and let all their supplies get taken. 

Edgar hummed to himself as he walked around the trailer, looking for anything else he could take. Finally, he turned and looked at Ryan, who was glaring at him helplessly. When Edgar stepped towards him, he couldn’t help his flinch, and a slow grin spread across Edgar’s face.

“Oh, Doctor Haywood,” he said, delighted, “I’ve got you all figured out.”

He walked towards him and Ryan staggered back until his legs hit the bed and he sat down on it. He was more scared than he wanted to admit, and burning with embarrassment. Edgar advanced closer to him, and closer, right up into his personal space. There was nothing he could do about it.

“Damn,” he said - he was so close that Ryan could feel his breath against his face. “You’re making it too easy.”

Ryan couldn’t meet his eyes. He heard Edgar spit into his hand, and a moment later he was wiping it on Ryan’s face. He squeezed his eyes shut, grimacing, as Edgar laughed - a cruel sound that sent a shudder down his spine.

“Holy shit,” Edgar said, “I guess it all has to balance out somewhere, right? You’ve got that bigass brain but the tiniest balls I’ve ever seen. I’m serious. _Miniscule_.”

_Ignore him,_ Ryan thought, but couldn’t, not when he was standing so close that he could feel the warmth radiating from the other man’s body. A heavy hand clapped on his shoulder, and he flinched.

“Well,” Edgar said, “Keep up the good work, doctor. And if you ever get sick of Michael, come join our group. You’d like Gavin. Lovely boy. Not like me. But, y’know - don’t let him know I was in here. It can be our little secret, alright?”

Ryan didn’t look up. A few moments later Edgar backed off, and then he was out of the trailer and the door was shut behind him. As soon as he was sure he was gone, Ryan stood, shakily. He wiped his face with a grimace and stared at his own reflection in the dark window; his pale face, his wide eyes. He felt sick and humiliated.

_You just stood there and let him take everything,_ he thought furiously, _too scared he’d hurt you to fight back. You’re a fucking liability to the group. If Michael had been here, he’d’ve knocked that asshole flat. Even Chris probably would have put up more of a fight._

_You’re pathetic_. 

He clenched his fists and took a shaky breath before going over to his workbench. What would he tell Michael when he came asking where the new traps were?

Another knock on the door made him jump out of his skin. He spun around, breathing heavily.

“Ryan?” It was Barbara’s voice, and relief speared through him. “You awake?”

Ryan gritted his teeth, trying to compose himself. He felt nervous and shaky as he opened the door.

“What do you need?” he snapped.

Barbara raised her eyebrows at his tone.

“Did I wake you from a nap or something?” she asked. “Michael has a job for us.”

“What’s going on?” he demanded, and looked over her shoulder. There was no sign of Edgar, now, but two other strangers were lingering in the middle of the camp. “Who are all these people?”

She pushed her way past him into the trailer and when he turned around, she gave him an odd look. He stared back at her, trying frantically to reassemble his blank, cold mask. He was jealous of Barbara too - he couldn’t deny it. She had an awkward edge that reminded him of himself when he was at school, but she’d adapted to this world well - even Michael trusted her now.

“The people with the kite are well-armed and there’s a lot of them,” Barbara explained. “We ran into another group who wanna stop them, too. They’re run by a guy called Gavin who Michael ran into when he went to get the bus. It sounds like things didn’t go down so well, but we’re gonna work together for now. From what Michael and I figure, their base is at a camping ground on the other side of the ridge.”

“We can’t trust them,” Ryan said immediately.

“Look,” Barbara replied patiently, “Michael’s saying the same thing, but… this Gavin guy seems really nice. I’m not just saying that, he’s making every attempt possible to reach out and work together. I dunno, it seems genuine to me.”

“It’s not him I’m worried about,” Ryan muttered, “It’s the rest of his group.”

“You haven’t even seen them,” Barbara chided.

Ryan bit his lip.

_You could tell her. Hell, you_ should _. She needs to know what kind of people we’re dealing with here._

But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. She’d know how weak he really was. 

“Anyway,” Barbara continued, “Michael’s going with them to deal with the kite guys. In the meantime, he wants you and I to go and scope out Gavin’s camp.”

“I’m guessing Gavin doesn’t know about this plan,” Ryan said drily.

She shook her head.

“Michael’s taking Aaron with him,” she said, “And he needs Chris to stay here and guard our supplies.”

Ryan closed his eyes. He could refuse, say he wouldn’t go. But he’d done enough damage with his cowardice already. Might as well get out there and get it over with. Maybe he’d die, he thought grimly, and all his problems would be over.

“Fine,” he grunted, and Barbara’s eyes lit up.

“Really? You’ll come?”

“Just said I would, didn’t I?” he snapped.

She looked awkward, but nodded.

“Good - that’s good! I’ll grab you a weapon and we’ll wait until the others have left.”

She jogged off and Ryan shut the door behind her. He sighed, rubbing his temples. It felt like everything was falling apart - but then again, it had felt like that for weeks now. He had no idea what he was doing. All he could try to do was stay as safe as possible.

Before, that’d been in here.

But now, after Edgar’s unwelcome invasion, he didn’t know any more.

\---

The winter twilight was depressing; the forest took on a haunted quality. Every shadow seemed darker and the sky’s blood red hue made Michael feel sick.

Somehow, being in a bigger group felt safer even if he didn’t quite trust them yet. Gavin’s guy had returned with Flynt and two others, a man and a woman, all of them carrying a gun. Where they’d got so many, Michael had no clue, but it was making him think he should stay on his good side.

His eyes tracked Gavin as he led the way. He walked softly, barely disturbing the brush around him, ducked under overhanging branches or picked his way delicately over fallen logs.

_Fucking weird kid_ , Michael couldn’t help thinking - spouting all that zen shit about loving everyone. There was something uncomfortable about the way his sea-green eyes reminded him so much of Geoff. But there was no way someone could genuinely be that chill all the time. He had to be hiding something. 

_Calm_ , that was the thing about Gavin. _Infuriatingly_ calm. But Michael could see why he was in charge; he was very good at making himself sound rational. He trudged on, watching the other man with a frown, trying to figure him out.

\---

Ryan was pretty much shitting himself as they made their way through the forest, clutching the baseball bat Barbara had given him with both hands. He probably looked stupid, such a big guy all hunched over and creeping along, but to be honest, most of his concentration was going towards not hyperventilating.

“You okay?” Barbara whispered. She seemed on edge too - she hadn’t been out without Michael before.

Ryan nodded, tightly.

“Fine,” he snapped, even if his fingers were clenched white-knuckled around the bat.

Barbara nodded, turning back around. Ryan took a shaky breath. It was a struggle to keep putting one foot in front of another. He was on tenterhooks waiting for the first biter to appear - all he wanted was to freeze, or run back home - every instinct screaming to _stop, go back-_

But he had to keep going, he was too far gone now, _just one foot in front of another..._

\---

Michael flinched as two biters emerged from the trees near them. Dan lifted his gun, but Gavin raised a hand.

“Don’t shoot,” he ordered. “It’ll attract more.”

He yanked a knife from his belt and advanced on one, Michael moving up to get the other. It was strange stepping up next to someone else to fight after months on his own. Michael sized up the biter - badly decomposed with worms visibly crawling in the ruined remains of its cheek - and grabbed it by the front of its shirt, shoving it to the ground as his blade sank through its skull.

He wrenched the knife free and turned in time to see Gavin ducking a swipe from the other biter. It was a big one; he whipped around in a single fluid motion and kicked it in the back of the knees. It fell, and he plunged the blade through its ear neatly.

He looked up and his eyes met Michael’s. He gave a small smile.

“Did martial arts as a kid,” he explained. “Forgot most of it. This has been a bit of a crash course in remembering it all again.”

“Right,” Michael said slowly. He frowned more deeply as they carried on. He tried not to think about _before_ too much, as a general rule, but he couldn’t help a nagging curiosity about Gavin, and what his story was...

\---

“Fuck, there’s one. Okay. Okay.”

Ryan froze as Barbara pointed to the shadow moving through the trees right where they needed to go. He’d seen biters before, of course - when he was alone for a bit at the start, through car windows and around the fringes of their camp - but the swaying figure and lurching steps had never looked so horrifying. He staggered backwards, bat raised in front of him.

Barbara glanced at him.

“I got it,” she said, and swallowed hard as she advanced. Ryan stood frozen, watching in horror.

_What if it kills her and then_ you _have to fight it and you’re alone out here-_

He knew Barbara had killed the things before, but it was still nerve wracking to watch her walk towards it. When it turned towards her, Ryan’s throat closed up until he could hardly breathe. With a grunt, she swung the knife at it; it staggered, but didn’t quite go down. She’d cut its head, but not gotten the brain.

With a panicked shout, she kicked at it. It fell, off balance, and she got onto its back and sat on it, pinning it down, knife raised ready to kill it-

Only to look up at him.

“Ryan? Finish it off?” she offered.

Dear fucking God. It was squirming and thrashing under her and all he could think was that one wrong move, one twist and it might get free, get on top of her, tear her throat out-

“No! No, fucking _kill it already_ , Jesus _fucking_ Christ!” he nearly screamed.

Barbara looked startled, but she stabbed it through the side of the head and got up. Ryan’s legs felt shaky, he pointed at her with one trembling finger.

“Don’t fucking do that,” he ordered.

“Ryan-”

“ _Don’t_. Fucking idiot. It could’ve killed you.”

“Ryan!” she called, but he was already stalking off into the trees, trying not to think about how hysterical he’d sounded, about how his hands were shaking and wouldn’t stop-

\---

“Here,” Gavin whispered.

They were crouched behind the bushes again. The group were huddled around their jeep at the base of a fire watch-post, getting ready to go. One older man, three middle aged adults - two men and a woman - and an older teenaged girl. The way they were handling the guns made it pretty clear they were familiar with how to use them.

Gavin took a deep breath.

“Stay here,” he said, “Don’t come out unless I say to. We don’t want to spook them.”

“I still think this is a shit idea,” Flynt grumbled.

“Well it’s what’s gonna happen,” Gavin replied, barely glancing at him. Michael saw Flynt clench his fists and look down, but he didn’t continue the argument.

Gavin bit his lip. He checked his gun, but kept it hidden under his jumper. He looked at Michael then, their eyes meeting, then rose and headed out of the bushes towards the group. Michael heard shouts of alarm, yelling in greek, the click of a gun’s safety - all he could see from here was Gavin’s back, his thin frame silhouetted against the red sky, hands raised-

\---

Ryan and Barbara crouched in the trees surrounding Gavin’s camp, watching. A few people patrolled the area, another young blonde woman was moving supplies around.

“They’re well stocked,” Barbara murmured, and turned to him. “What’re you doing?”

“Making notes,” Ryan said, and continued scribbling frantically in his pocket notebook. This, he was good at - this he was comfortable with, taking note of all his observations. He jotted down each person and what he could see about them. The weapons that were present, the way they were patrolling, the diagram of the camp layout. From what he could tell, there were about six of them here - combined with those who had gone out with Gavin, that was quite a lot. They ranged in age from twenties to forties, and his stomach sank.

They were definitely outnumbered.

And if this group had people like Edgar in it, he was starting to think they might have a much bigger problem than biters on their hands.

\---

“Hi,” Gavin said, just as calmly as when he met Michael. “Please don’t be alarmed. I’m just here to talk.”

Michael watched breathlessly as the group converged around him, their guns raised. The old man was clearly the leader; he was smaller than Gavin, but holding a big gun made anyone look dangerous.

“Who the fuck are you?” he demanded gruffly.

“My name’s Gavin. I’m part of a group in the area. I’ve seen you around - well, your kite. That’s all I wanted to talk to you about.”

“You armed, boy?”

“I don’t mean you any harm.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

The other two men were advancing on him from the sides, and Michael’s chest felt tight. Annoying he might find the other man, but Gavin was the least of his fucking problems right now. He didn’t _want_ him to get killed - but he had a feeling that this wasn’t going to go the way Gavin hoped-

\---

It was nearly dark, and he wanted to get back before the last light slipped away - but Ryan was actually feeling alright as they headed back home. Even Barbara was smiling a little. Aside from that one biter, they hadn’t run into anything, and they were starting to get close to their camp when he heard a sound. 

“Barbara,” he called sharply.

“What?” she asked, turning, only to pause.

Someone was out there. He could hear rustling and footsteps, unlike how a biter usually moved. They exchanged a frightened glance, and Barbara raised her knife before stepping in the direction of the sound.

“Hello?” she called out.

A black silhouette emerged from the shadows, and Ryan’s heart nearly stopped. It stepped closer, into the light.

“Hi,” the man said, and Ryan stiffened. He couldn’t see much in the dim light, just a filthy face and the flash of white teeth as the guy grinned, but even at a glance it was clear he’d been out here a while. He was covered in dirt and his clothes were ragged, a funny leer on his face. Ryan caught the glint of a knife in his hand.

Barbara had stiffened, too.

“Who are you?” she asked, cautiously. Ryan inched a little closer to her.

The man’s head tilted as he regarded them. _Not one of Gavin’s,_ Ryan thought - everyone back at the camp had been cleaner than this, unless this one had been away from the group for quite a while.

“I’m a survivor just like you,” he replied, and gave a low chuckle as he gestured at Barbara’s knife. “No need for that, sweetheart. I’m not the dead and I’m not your enemy. Just a guy who saw some others out here and hoped they might be friendly. Your camp nearby?”

“Who are you?” Barbara repeated. “What are you doing out here?”

“Just a vagabond,” the man said, with an easy shrug. “Aren’t we all, these days? I’ve been surviving on my own in the city for a while. Had a partner; the dead took him. City’s overrun so I’ve only just hit the forest. I’m pretty hungry and cold, haven’t eaten in a days. Lots of dead on the road today. You two all there is of your group or are there more?”

“Don’t trust him,” Ryan whispered. The guy was giving them a bad feeling; in the low light of the forest and alone as he was, something felt _wrong_.

Barbara fidgeted uncertainty.

“He’s just like any one of us,” she whispered, “It’s not nice being alone out here.”

“You can’t be sure he’s alone. Or that he’s telling the truth.”

“Why would he lie?”

“To steal our things,” Ryan whispered, furiously.

“Not everyone’s out to get us-”

“Don’t be _stupid_ ,” Ryan hissed, annoyed by these lofty, noble ideals, “We can’t just trust some _stranger-”_

\---

“I have a gun,” Gavin replied cautiously, “But I’m not here to use it. Your kite is drawing the dead to the area. I figured you might not know there’s people around here. You’re part of a bigger group, yeah? Maybe we can help each other out here.”

“How big’s your group?” the old man demanded. “You got guns?”

Michael saw Gavin hesitate.

“Not huge,” he said slowly, “But there’s enough of us to keep ourselves safe. And yes, we have a few guns.”

The old man was staring at him suspiciously, and none of them had lowered their weapons. Gavin still had his hands up. 

“We should stick together nowadays,” he continued, “There’s only two sides, the living and the dead.”

“You got lots of supplies?” the man insisted.

“We have some.” He nodded at the jeep. “Looks like you’re doing pretty well for yourself.”

“Where’s your base?”

Even Gavin wasn’t stupid. Michael saw his shoulders stiffen, knew he could see they were just demanding information and not bothering to meet him halfway.

“Could you lower the guns for a minute?” he asked. “I just want to talk. There’s only one of me, and this isn’t a fight.”

“It’s not working,” Aaron whispered, “They’re too suspicious.”

Michael had to nod. He didn’t like the way the two men were still advancing on Gavin, or how the girl had gotten in the jeep, and the woman was standing a little way off muttering into the walkie-talkie-

\---

“What’d you do before all this?” Barbara asked, ignoring him. Ryan clenched his jaw, biting back a curse.

“Construction worker,” the vagabond replied, grinning, “Don’t worry, I wasn’t a serial killer or anything!”

“How many biters have you killed?” 

“Too many to count. What is this, darling, a fucking job interview?”

“Have you run into any groups before ours?” Barbara continued, unphased.

“No,” he replied, “Would’ve joined them if I had. It was me and my partner and now he’s dead. What is it about me that’s got you so suspicious? I promise I’m nice.”

Ryan really, really did not like this. But he could tell that Barbara was wavering - she was soft, too fucking _soft_ , the same way Geoff had been when he let Michael in.

“We like to help people,” she was already saying, “If we can trust them.”

“You can trust me,” he replied, and stepped towards them-

\---

“Look,” Gavin was saying - he still wasn’t going for his gun. Michael could’ve slapped him. “My group doesn’t want trouble, we just want to make sure everyone’s as safe as possible. I’m guess you want to keep your family safe too-”

The old man barked an order in Greek and Gavin froze, confused-

And that was when Flynt flew up from next to Michael and burst from the trees with his gun raised. Michael sat up a little, straining to see. He could hear shouts of alarm and he caught a flash of movement as all the weapons swung in Flynt’s direction.

“He’s not alone!” Flynt roared, “So either listen to what he has to say or fuck on out of here! We were camping here first.”

“God damn it,” Dan hissed-

“ _Flynt_!” Gavin snapped, and Michael and Aaron exchanged an alarmed look. “Put the gun down-“

—

“So how many people are there at your camp?” the vagabond asked. He moved closer and Ryan didn’t like the look in his eyes.

“Barbara,” he whispered.

“Five,” she replied, ignoring him.

“That’s not many.” He tilted his head. “You got guns?”

She hesitated. She could sense it too now, Ryan knew, something was _off_.

“There’s a camping ground near here,” the vagabond continued, “That’s gotta be where you’re staying, isn’t it. That’s not too far. What sort of supplies you got?”

He’d moved forward, close enough for them to see him now, and as Ryan scanned him up and down, his eyes widened.

“You’re lying,” he said, and the man turned to him.

“Excuse me?” he asked.

“Your knuckles are scuffed like you’ve been in a fight,” Ryan said breathlessly. “No one _punches_ a biter, not when they have a knife. Your backpack is full but you said you hadn’t eaten in days. And your shoes are wet. You said you came from the city, but that’s in the opposite direction to the river. Barbara…”

He trailed off. Her eyes were wide, he knew she must believe him - but the man had a dangerous glint in his eyes now.

“Well,” he said slowly, “Aren’t you a clever one.”

He took another step towards him and Ryan stumbled back, clutching the bat-

\---

One of the men lunged forward and grabbed Gavin’s arm, yanking him towards him. There was a gun pressed to his head before he could even yelp and Flynt swung around, eyes wide.

“Stay back,” the old man warned, “Or we blow your friend’s head off.”

“Shit, _shit_ ,” Michael hissed, sitting up a little. There was an elbow hooked around Gavin’s throat and another hand gripping his wrist tightly. He couldn’t get to his gun. Flynt’s eyes darted from one figure to another, like a trapped animal, and Michael turned to the others.

“Okay, time for plan B,” he told Dan. “Follow my lead. Aaron, you too.”

Dan looked torn.

“I-“

“We both want these guys out of here,” Michael snapped, and Dan nodded.

“If you get him killed,” he warned weakly, but Michael was already clambering up.

“If he gets killed you can thank your buddy Flynt. Come _on_ ,” he nodded at Aaron, “On my signal,” and then took Dan’s gun and fired a shot into the air before handing it back and striding out from the bushes, too-

\---

“Stay back!” Barbara warned. Her voice was shaking as the guy advanced on her, one slow step after another - mockingly, like he _knew_ just how fucking villainous he looked and was relishing it.

“Or what?” he sneered.

She raised her knife, and he laughed.

“I think you guys should take me to your camp,” he said.

“Turn around,” Barbara continued, her voice wobbling, “And walk away.”

“Sorry, I didn’t realise you were in charge around here.” He peered past her to Ryan. “Is she the boss? Oh, look at you,” he sing-songed, “You’re practically pissing yourself. She’s definitely the boss.”

Ryan stood frozen, clutching the bat like a lifeline. In his head, he imagined running forward and hitting the guy over the head, over and over, knocking that stupid smug grin from his face. In his head - he imagined the guy stabbing him with that big ass knife. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t-

\---

“He’s not alone!” Michael shouted, as all heads turned towards him. “You have no fucking clue how many of us there are.”

“Yeah!” Flynt crowed, lifting his gun again.

“Drop it, or he dies,” the old man warned. The gun jammed harder against Gavin’s head and he winced. Michael’s eyes met his, huge and frantic.

“Drop it or you _all_ die,” he replied calmly. “How many of us do you think are out there? You’re surrounded.”

They weren’t, not really - but Dan knew his cue; he fired a shot too and then emerged. And then Edgar, a second later, and then Gavin’s other people.

“We own these woods,” Michael continued, “All of us. If you ever fly your fucking kite in here again we’ll kill all of you. Consider this your last warning.”

—

“I said stay _back_!” Barbara cried, but the man just _laughed,_ an ugly laugh that showed all of his blackened teeth. All Ryan could do was watch as he advanced on her - Barbara was clutching the knife, and as he stepped forward to grab her arm, she swung it at him.

The man leaped backwards, avoiding the swipe - but Barbara moved forward to follow him. She thrust forward again, and he couldn’t move in time. The knife slid easily into his abdomen.

There was a moment when the whole forest seemed to stand still. The man looked down at himself and let out a wheezing sort of groan. Barbara had let go of the blade, staggering back in shock, and after a moment he gripped the handle and pulled at it. It wouldn’t come out, but blood gushed from the wound. In the dim light, it looked nearly black, more and more of it -

\---

A series of loud pops rang out from the bushes, _bang bang bang_ like gunshots, like a _lot_ of gunshots. Michael smiled - there was Aaron and the firecrackers.

The family looked spooked, glancing at each other with wide eyes - even the old man faltering uncertainly. Flynt fired a shot at the jeep. The window shattered in an explosion of glass, and the teenage girl sitting in the back screamed.

Michael took his chance. He lunged forward - he knew his hand-to-hand well enough, it’d been part of his fucking job for years - he grabbed the arm of the man holding Gavin and snapped it back. The guy yelled in pain and Michael yanked Gavin free, dragging him clear before moving in to kick the guy in the stomach, wrestling the gun from him. He stepped back, pointing it at the man’s head.

“Run,” he ordered, “And don’t come back.”

The old man was staring at him with pure hate in his eyes. Michael scowled back - then the guy backed off. He jerked a hand and gathered his family; they scuttled into the jeep and drove away-

\---

“Oh my God,” Barbara whispered.

Her hands were pressed to her mouth and she backed up until she bumped into Ryan. They both watched, transfixed, as the man sank to his knees, staring up at them with bloodshot eyes.

“You _bitch_ ,” he said, but blood bubbled from his mouth as he spoke. He crumpled to the ground, twitching in horrible jerks. The blood was fountaining from his guts; Ryan could smell it, the air ringing with a metallic tang.

Barbara groped for his arm and gripped it tightly.

“I-“ she began. “Oh God, I-“

Ryan could only stare as the man finally fell still, and once again everything was silent. He swallowed, his mouth very dry.

“You killed him,” he said, uselessly.

Barbara’s face was white. She inched forward and tentatively crouched next to the man. Reached out - he could see her hand shaking - and checked for a pulse. Then closed his eyes, and turned, and vomited on the ground next to the body. Ryan could only stand there staring at her.

“I killed him,” she croaked.

Ryan was shaking. He took a deep breath and imagined all the pieces being pulled back together. When he spoke, his voice was calm.

“You dealt with a threat to the group,” he said, “Good job.”

“Good job?” Barbara demanded, and whirled around. Her eyes were red in her pale face. “Good fucking job? I just _killed_ a guy!”

“He was advancing on you with a _knife_ , you had to-”

“Not a biter, Ryan, not one of the dead! A _human_ , you can’t just-“

She broke off with a choked noise, pressing her hands to her face. Ryan thought she might be crying, and shifted uncomfortably.

“You made the right call,” he said. “I’m not gonna fault you for it.”

“Can’t you see how _fucked up_ this is?”

“The world’s fucked up. This is how it is now, “ he said, robotically, “You took the most logical step to deal with the situation and the outcome is in our favour.”

Barbara just stared at him. He didn’t like the way she was looking at him - a blank sort of horror in her gaze, her face tear-streaked. 

“I shouldn’t have done that,” she whispered.

“You should have,” Ryan said, gruffly. “Michael will agree. Let’s go home.”

He sounded a lot calmer than he felt, and he was the one who led the way now - Barbara trailing behind him, numbly - but his hands were shaking with the adrenaline and he knew that once he was back sitting in the dark, this moment would stick with him, would become another of those memories he replayed until it wore thin.

\---

“Good fucking riddance,” Michael declared, as soon as the truck was out of view.

Dan had rushed to Gavin’s side and was checking him over.

“You okay, B?” he demanded.

Gavin nodded, then pushed him away and turned to the others, and _oh_ , Michael realised, _he’s angry._

“What the fuck was that?” he spat at Flynt.

“Was _what_?” Flynt demanded. He looked over at Michael. “Hey, you should’ve told them to hand over their guns and supplies. They were scared shitless. They would’ve done it.”

“This wasn’t an armed bloody robbery!” Gavin squawked. “It was meant to be a negotiation and you _fucked it up-“_

“They weren’t _negotiating_!” Flynt snapped back, and got up in his face. “Are you fucking blind, Free?”

“I told you to wait for my signal!”

“You weren’t _giving_ the signal, the time came and went! You agree, don’t you?” he demanded, turning to Michael, who had to shrug and nod.

“Wasn’t exactly going your way, Gavin,” he pointed out.

Gavin stared around at them all. He was breathing hard, shoulders heaving, staring at them like _they_ were the stupid ones. Michael’s previous annoyance rose hot in his chest.

“This is _not_ how we do things,” Gavin said finally, in the tone of a very disappointed teacher, which only irked Michael more. “With guns and threats and - and saying we’re gonna _kill_ people. We don’t own the forest.”

“Neither do _they_!” Flynt protested. “You’re meant to be keeping our group safe, but you were gonna let these guys push you around-“

He broke off when Gavin rounded on him, something intense in his anger that made Flynt’s mouth snap shut.

“No one was pushing me around,” Gavin said, coldly. “I was handling it.”

“You weren’t handling _shit_ ,” Flynt spat back. 

“Hey, hey, hey!” Edgar cut in, swooping in and slinging an arm around them both, making Gavin stumble and Flynt seethe and shove at him. “Let’s all just get along! Gavin is doing a _great job_ , we can’t lead with just pointing guns at people, Flynt. That makes us all look bad. We tried negotiating, it went a _bit_ south, but in the end they’re gone and we’re all alive and no one got shot, so let’s all just be happy with that, huh?”

Gavin threw Edgar’s arm off him. The rest of their group was watching awkwardly, and Michael sighed and stepped forward, sick of this drama.

“You wanna get killed,” he said to Gavin, “That’s your damn problem, but I’m gonna keep my people safe however I need to.”

Gavin stared at him and then gave a snort that made Michael bristle.

“Got what you wanted in the end, didn’t you?” he said bitterly.

“What’s that supposed to fucking mean?”

Gavin nodded at the gun, and Michael scowled.

“Of course I took it,” he snapped. “Don’t forget whose head this was pointed at. And if they come back, I’ll deal with it again. In the meantime the forest is ours, we don’t have to _run away_ like you were so heroically planning.”

“Your way of doing things is-“

“Is _what_?” Michael challenged, and jabbed a finger at his chest. “Too _mean?_ Jesus fucking Christ. _Your_ way of doing things is gonna get you killed,” he snapped. He started to turn away, but Gavin grabbed his arm.

“And _yours_ is gonna get a _lot_ of people killed,” he shot back. “It’s a short term solution. One day, humans are gonna have to work together again, and if you burn every bridge now, _that’s_ how you’ll end up on the bottom.”

Michael wrenched his arm away. He was so pissed off he could barely think, and they glowered at one another for a long moment.

“Stay away from my camp,” he hissed, finally. “I don’t need your shit messing up the way I do things.” 

“I intend to,” Gavin snapped.

“Good! Let’s go, Aaron,” Michael said, and turned away. Behind him, he heard the fighting start up again, Flynt’s voice and Gavin’s rising up in some new argument.

\---

“Yeah, I’ve killed people,” Brown said quietly. “Of course I have. It’s unavoidable nowadays. Not for no reason, to keep myself safe. Manslaughter, that what they call it?” 

“I don’t think shit like that matters anymore,” Michael muttered. He was sitting on the roof of the bus, legs crossed and a bottle next to him, staring up at the sky. The stars flickered faintly above him, and the winter air was making his fingers numb, but the burn of alcohol in his chest kept him mostly warm.

Down below, he could see Aaron and Chris sitting around the campfire talking, leaning in close to each other. A lonely ache spread through his bones, and he clung a little tighter to the walkie-talkie, wishing abruptly that Brown was sitting here next to him where their knees could touch, a human warmth.

“You didn’t feel bad about it?” he asked.

“At first I did,” Brown replied. “After a while it gets… easier. Like killing the biters does.”

“Wait, how many people?” Michael asked, aghast, and Brown gave a bitter laugh.

“Six. I keep count of that. Maybe that’s morbid.”

“No, I think it makes sense,” Michael murmured, and a silence settled over them.

“I don’t find guilt to be a very productive emotion,” Brown said eventually, “Not nowadays.”

“What about from before? Is there anything you feel guilty about from then?”

“Before? I guess not. Honestly, I did shit all before, I was such a loser. I guess it’s regret more than guilt. Had no clue the world was gonna end before I could, y’know. Travel the world, climb Mount Everest and all that shit. How about you?”

Michael closed his eyes. His throat felt tight. It seemed silly, that after all that’d happened it was still hard to talk about.

“You remember,” he said slowly, “I told you how I was in a bad place after that job went wrong?”

“Yeah.”

“And I was drinking a lot and that’s why my ex left?”

“I remember,” Brown said, gently. Michael took a shaky breath.

“There was a part in the middle that I didn’t mention. I-”

“Michael?” a small voice called from down below.

“Shit,” Michael hissed. “I’ll talk to you in a bit.”

“No problem, man,” Brown replied, and Michael turned off the walkie and leaned over the edge of the bus. Barbara was standing below, staring up at him. He gestured for her to come up through the roof, and a moment later she was clambering up next to him. She looked small and vulnerable with her hair down, and upon settling next to him she pulled her knees up and folded her arms around them.

Michael offered her the bottle and she took it silently. Ryan had told him what went down in the woods and he didn’t really know what to say.

“You made the right call,” he settled on, finally.

“Don’t,” Barbara replied, voice flat, “I know you’re trying to make me feel better, but that’s not what I need to hear right now.”

“Okay,” Michael murmured, and sat back. He watched her drink for a while, feeling awkward - wondering if he was meant to pat her on the back or put an arm around her or something sentimental like that. But he didn’t, just sat there until she finally took a shaky breath and turned to him. Her eyes were red.

“I know he deserved it,” she said abruptly, “And he was trying to hurt us too, but that doesn’t make it right. I should’ve tried to find another way. I panicked because I handled things wrong from the start. I just - don’t know what I’m doing in all this.”

“Whatever you have to to survive,” Michael said, but she shook her head.

“No, I don’t like that. There’s surviving and there’s rebuilding. I don’t want our attitude to be just… look out for our group and fuck everyone else.”

“That’s the way it’s gotta be sometimes,” he pointed out, but she shook her head.

“That’s not what I want to be.”

She took another drink. Michael couldn’t help thinking that if he’d done it, he wouldn’t feel so bad about it. He wasn’t sure if that was fucked up or not. But Barbara turned to him then.

“What happened with you and Gavin at the bus depot,” she said, and Michael stiffened - he’d thought he was in the clear - “I find it hard to believe after meeting him that he attacked first.”

Michael had to laugh.

“You’re right,” he said, “I was the asshole. I refused to negotiate. When he wouldn’t leave I hit him. I gave him ample opportunities to get out of there, fucker wouldn’t go. I still think he’s hiding something,” he added darkly, “No one’s that _nice_.”

“Michael…”

“I told you,” he said defensively, “I’m not a good person. I never wanted to be in charge.”

She stared at him for a long moment and he couldn’t meet her eyes, worried what she was seeing.

“You’ve taken care of us,” she murmured finally. “You _stayed_.” She passed the bottle back to him and rested her chin on her knees. “I don’t know what I’m doing any more than you do."

“There’s no easy answers,” he agreed.

They sat there together, passing the bottle back and forth. Michael stared out at the black silhouettes of trees, the forest stretching out ahead. Thought of Gavin’s group, somewhere out there. He was pretty sure that as calm as the other man acted, he had no clue what the fuck he was doing either. They were all fumbling blindly here, trying to make their way in this new dark.

Barbara’s knee pressed to his. There was something hard to her face that hadn’t been there before, a shift in her eyes. 

This time he did reach out, resting an arm tentatively around her shoulders and she leaned into it. Something softened a little in her face and his shoulders - the two of them just as lost, but not quite as alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gorgeous art by my fave [justisaisfine](http://justisaisfine.tumblr.com/) THANK YOU SO MUCH <3 
> 
> **UPDATES WEEKLY**


	3. 1x03: Guilty Conscience

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Manual poll link: <http://www.strawpoll.me/15225428>

Dawn was rising in the forest, dragged in late by the winter, a weak, watery light only just beginning to filter through the trees. It fell on bloodsoaked leaves, trunks stained red, thick drops pattering to the ground below and seeping away into the soil in dark patches.

A man stalked below the trees, humming softly to himself. One hand rested on the gun at his belt, the other reached out to run along the ropes strung between the trees. Above him, the shredded remains of one of the dead plinked down in grotesque drops. Another snarled weakly from where it was stuck in what looked like a makeshift bear trap, knives rigged together by a system of springs and pulleys.

“Edgar,” a voice called.

He whirled around - then relaxed as Flynt emerged from the trees. In the thin light he looked nearly demonic, with his dark eyes and the long black coat he’d taken to wearing that made him resemble nothing so much as a Sith lord - not that anyone could blame him, it was fucking cold. His eyes darted cautiously around the trees, the scattered remains of the biters.

“Where’d you get those traps?” he demanded suspiciously.

“Made ‘em,” Edgar replied.

“No you didn’t, you dirty liar. They’re the traps from Michael’s group. He give them to you?”  
  
Edgar shook his head with a flat sort of smile.

“I took them,” he said. “The guy who made them is such a little bitch. Just stood there practically whimpering while I ransacked his trailer. I think he’ll be too scared to even tell Michael.”  
  
Flynt frowned as he absorbed this.

“Does Gavin know?”

“Of course not,” Edgar scoffed. “Like he’d ever let me. He’d probably make me give them back with a written apology.”  
  
Flynt laughed; an ugly, mocking sound.

“You’re right there,” he said. “Pussy.”  
  
“Hey.” A darker look passed over Edgar’s face. “Watch your tone. He’s in charge.”  
  
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” Flynt stepped closer, something secretive in the gesture. The blood was still pattering down around them like rain. Edgar’s head was tilted, very calm even as Flynt loped up to him, breathing heavily in that way he did, staring up at him from under furrowed brows, like some creeping feline predator. 

“Gavin just sort of ended up in charge, according to the others,” he began.

“He was the only one keeping his shit together at the start, so yeah, he ended up in charge,” Edgar replied. “No one had a problem with it. He’s done a good job keeping us out of trouble. He rations fairly, makes sure everyone’s trained up and productive.”  
  
“Yeah? Let’s see what else he’s done,” Flynt said bitterly. “He’s given our supplies away to people who have the fever and are doomed anyway. He refused to raid that truck we came across because it might _belong_ to someone. He wouldn’t run those kite idiots out of town and nearly got himself killed ‘negotiating’ with them. His stupid philosophy doesn’t belong in this world.”  
  
“This world,” Edgar murmured.

“He’s weak,” Flynt spat, “He shouldn’t be in charge. We need a strong leader. Someone like that Michael.”

“Someone like you, you mean?” Edgar challenged. “Someone who’ll put our group before anyone else? Lead us _mightily_ into battle?”  
  
“You’re making fun of me,” Flynt said, a bit sulkily.   

“Flynt, buddy, let me explain to you how this works.” Edgar slung an arm around his shoulders, started leading him back towards their camp. “If we look like assholes, other groups will attack us. If we _look_ like a group led by the Lord Jesus himself, then other groups _trust_ us. And when other groups _trust_ us, then people like you and I who are not constrained by such things as bleeding hearts and sensitive consciences can do our own thing. Like step in the way you did at the negotiation - or taking those traps like I did. Rest assured, I do not want someone like Michael in charge. Gavin is fantastic. Everyone loves our group - we look like fucking saints! I’ll take care of the stuff we need - like supplies and making sure other groups know we’re not to be pushed around.”  
  
“Operating behind the scenes,” Flynt mused.

“In a sense.”  
  
“If Gavin knew about this, he’d stop you.”  
  
“Who’s gonna tell him?” Edgar asked, jostling his shoulders. “You? You love what I’m doing, don’t deny it.”  
  
“He’s weak,” Flynt muttered after a pause. “It’s only a matter of time before he gets one of us killed.”  
  
“Subtlety and restraint, Flynt,” Edgar replied loftily. “Subtlety and restraint! That bullheaded Michael is no better. In this world? It’s not about being tough and it’s not about being soft. It’s about being _smart_.”  
  
He tapped the side of his head knowingly, then clapped Flynt on the back with a wink and headed off home. Flynt looked back over his shoulder at the mess of dead biters in the traps. He frowned, thoughtfully - then shook himself and continued on after him.  

- 

- 

- 

**1x03: GUILTY CONSCIENCE**

Milky eyes stared sightlessly up at the sky. Barbara sobbed as she knelt next to the body, trying to pull her knife out of its ribs. It wouldn’t come out, was stuck like fucking Excalibur as she yanked and yanked at the hilt. More blood gushed from the wound in the man’s abdomen, coating her hands to the wrist in red.

“Come on, come on, _fuck_ -”  
  
She could hear biters in the woods around her. It was dark now, and the trees seemed to loom around her. Where was Ryan? She let out another choked sob as she pulled at the knife only to lose her grip, hands slippery with blood, and fall forward, catching herself over the man’s chest. 

His face was close to hers, mouth hanging open, ghastly eyes staring at her. She gasped, and reached forward to close them, but they sprang open - again and again until she was nearly hysterical-

Suddenly a hand closed around her wrist; she let out a scream as the man’s mouth began to open and a strangled moan emerged, as he began to sit up and gnashing teeth lunged for her throat- 

\---

Barbara sat up with a choked gasp, thrashing under her blankets, panic tight around her chest. She kicked them away and scrambled to get out of bed, managing to fall to the floor where she sat, heaving for breath. After a moment she leaned back against the mattress and stared up at the ceiling. 

_Safe. You’re not out there, you’re in here._ Four walls, a locked door. The trailer always seemed smaller than she remembered; it still took her by surprise sometimes, waking up here. She squeezed her eyes shut. Reached up and felt her cheeks, damp with tears. Slowly, slowly, her racing heart began to calm. After a moment she pulled her knees up and buried her head in her arms. 

Adrenaline and lack of sleep made her feel sick. This wasn’t her first time being woken by nightmares. It wouldn’t be the last. But this one plagued her. The dead eyes, the feeling of warm blood on her hands - etched in her memory, something too _real_ about it. 

She sniffed hard, rubbing her eyes for a moment - then stood up abruptly, and moved to grab her coat. 

\--- 

Chris was boiling water in a pot when she emerged. It’d been cold lately, but today was a new low, it was absolutely fucking freezing. 

_Nothing compared to Canada,_ she thought wryly, _not that it matters. Used to freeze my ass off there too_.

“Hey,” she called out. She was glad it was him - she felt like shit, and her hair was dirty and she was sure her face was blotchy from crying, but she knew he wouldn’t comment. Also, he was the only person she’d met who was more awkward than she was and she didn’t feel as self-conscious around him. “Where’s everyone else?”  
  
“Hey,” Chris replied. He looked tired, deep bags on his eyes, but even the scruffy beard he’d grown couldn’t make him look older. ‘A twelve year old who fell face first into something a cat coughed up,’ that was how Michael had described it - rather scathingly, she thought, for someone who could barely grow a beard himself.  

“Michael’s sleeping, Ryan’s working…” He gestured to the light that never seemed to go out in Ryan’s trailer window. “Aaron’s just woken up. I’m making him more tea.”  
  
“How is he?” Barbara asked gently. 

Chris’ face twisted, upset. He bit his lip.

“No better,” he whispered. “His fever still hasn't gone down. I’m starting to get a bit worried.”  
  
_A bit worried_ was an understatement; he looked like he was about to cry and Barbara was pretty sure he hadn’t slept all night. She fidgeted, unsure what to say.

“I’m sure he’ll be okay,” she said, kicking herself for how awkward it sounded. “I’m gonna go look for some firewood, okay? We’ll keep him as warm as we can.”  
  
The lie came out clumsily, but Chris didn’t seem to notice, and the way he nodded all earnest like only made her feel like the world’s biggest piece of shit as she patted him on the shoulder and walked off.

“Sure you don’t wanna wait for Michael?” he called after her.

“I’ll be fine!” she yelled back, but her heart was pounding. She stepped carefully over the log fence, pausing to stab the three snarling biters who’d wandered into the stake traps in the night. One - flash of the blade through the eye. Two - behind the ear, some blood seeping into the wool of her gloves. Three - this biter an older man, for a moment making her pause, feeling sick at the sound of metal passing through flesh. She paused for a moment, took a deep breath - then trudged on, into the freezing forest. 

\---

This was a stupid idea. 

Barbara knew that, objectively. What did it matter that he was still out there? Just one more biter. She didn’t know why she needed to do this.

Except she remembered high school, and _Macbeth_ , and the night they’d all been taken to see the play. She remembered being transfixed by the mad queen roaming the castle halls - thought, now, that she’d almost looked like a biter, with her face gruesomely pale and her hair hanging in her face, scrubbing uselessly at worn hands. _Out, damned spot_.

God, she hadn’t thought of that in a long time. Those years were tied up with a lot of other shit. She couldn’t even remember which school that class had been from, now - she’d been to so many that they all blurred together.

She should probably be scared out here on her own. 

But she wasn’t - instead, she almost felt like she was still dreaming, like any second now she’d be jerked back to reality. She traced her steps back along a path she’d walked too many times while asleep. At one point a biter hissed nearby - she paused, ducking back behind a tree, strained to see it move past - but it wasn’t him, it was a woman, shambling along with its dark hair hanging in its face. Like the ghost of Lady Macbeth. Barbara took a shaky breath and continued on. 

Her hands started trembling as she approached the clearing, clutching at the hilt of her new knife. 

_He’ll be here. Just like in my dreams._  

She didn’t know if she was ready to face it, and for a moment she froze. 

_You should go back. This is stupid._  

_No - you’ve come this far - if you don’t do it now you never will_.  

With a deep breath, she stepped through the trees- 

Nothing.

This was the right spot, she was sure of it. She could see blood on the rocks on the ground where he’d fallen - but no body lay there now. She spun in a slow circle, expecting him to emerge from the trees, but nothing happened. She felt a lump rise in her throat and wasn’t sure if it was relief she felt now, or just a sick, bitter disappointment- 

_Snap!_ A branch crunched underfoot and she whirled around, grip tightening on the knife. 

_Is it him?_ She turned, slowly, trying to figure out what direction the noise was coming from- 

“Barbara?”  
  
The sound of her name made her jump nearly out of her skin; she yelped and whirled around. Gavin jumped back in alarm, hands raised, and she realised she’d pulled her knife. A sick feeling rose in her chest- 

( _That same instinct, a snap of panic and adrenaline and she was lunging forward just like Michael had shown her, just like she’d done time and time again to kill a biter except this wasn’t a biter and he didn’t dodge and then her hands were covered in warm blood and he was staggering back, eyes wide-)_  

“Jesus fucking Christ, Jesus fuck cocksucking Christ,” she gasped, and Gavin’s eyes widened.

“Cocksucking Christ. That’s a new one,” he said gently, and Barbara let out a hysterical sort of laugh. She lowered her knife and realised he was still standing a little way back from her, hands raised and watching her cautiously. She ran shaking hands over her face and forced a smile. 

“Sorry. Sorry, I’m really on edge. You startled me by calling my name. Thought it was God for a sec,” she joked, weakly.

“Or his cocksucking son,” Gavin replied, and Barbara laughed again - shakily - she pressed a hand to her chest and tried to breathe. Gavin stepped towards her, carefully.

“You okay?” he asked. 

She nodded, calming enough to get a good look at him. He was alone, that she noted first. She hadn’t seen him in weeks, but he looked the same - that same odd _softness_ about him, something about his unruly mop of hair and baggy clothes serving to make him look pretty non-threatening. His eyes were gentle as he stared at her and she found herself oddly glad to see him.

“Yeah, sorry. Just exhausted.”  
  
“Me too,” he said, and she noticed the dark shadows under his eyes like bruises. “Also I’m freezing my balls off out here, if it starts snowing I’m _out_.”  
  
He hopped about, rubbing his arms, like a particularly big-nosed rabbit, and Barbara couldn’t help her smile. She breathed a puff of fog at him and he spluttered dramatically before turning and blowing a puff back at her. This started a childish war for a few moments before Gavin apparently choked on his own spit and couldn’t stop coughing. Barbara stepped closer to pound him on the back.

“Thanks,” he croaked finally, rubbing his eyes, “Think I swallowed my own tongue. My life flashed before my eyes for a minute there.” 

“How was it?”  
  
“Cringeworthy,” he replied, “Especially high school. Anyway, what are you doing out here on your own?” he asked brightly, and Barbara’s smile faded. For a moment, around him, it’d been too easy to forget.

“Firewood,” she mumbled. She was an atrocious liar but Gavin was apparently even more trusting than she’d thought.

"Oh,” he said. “Those big bark pieces are good! Be careful though, they sorta flare up when you burn them. Nearly took Dan’s eyebrows off. Which actually might’ve been an improvement, those things are _wild_. But I think the trees with them are closer to your camp.”  

The guilt welled up heavier in her chest. She looked away, rubbing her arm.

“Actually, I… I’m kind of looking for someone,” she said.

“Is one of your group lost?” Gavin asked, eyes wide. “It’s pretty easy if you get off the trails. One of our first days in here I may have wandered in circles for the better part of an hour. People used to die like that, before. Hikers who veered off the path. Should leave a trail of bloody breadcrumbs everywhere we go.”

“No, it’s not that. It feels stupid to say.”  
  
“Hey.” Gavin touched her arm gently. “I’ve done a lot of stupid things. No judgment here. But it’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it. I’m just heading over to the road,” he offered, “Want to see if I can get another car and siphon some petrol.”  
  
“You guys are leaving?”  
  
“No, but we need to start scavenging and it’s faster to drive. Getting a bit low on food.”  
  
He smiled, disarmingly, and Barbara stared at him. She glanced back over her shoulder in the direction of the camp. Thought of Ryan sitting up through the night, eyes red from exhaustion - of Chris hunched tearfully over the campfire - of Aaron lying in the grip of fever. 

“I… I’m looking for a biter,” she found herself saying. 

“There are some back there,” Gavin said. “Is it for a trap?”  
  
“No, a particular biter.” She swallowed, clenched her fists. “I told you, it’s _stupid_ , but - there was this guy who attacked Ryan and I in the forest, I - I didn’t mean to kill him but he was coming at me and I couldn’t-”  
  
Her throat seemed to close up. She didn’t dare look at Gavin’s face, but a moment later his hand gripped her arm and squeezed gently, and she closed her eyes and took a shuddering breath.

“It’s been eating me up since it happened,” she whispered. “I didn’t get him in the head so he must’ve come back as a biter. I just - I don’t know. If I’d been thinking clearly I would’ve got him in the brain then and there, but I didn’t. I was freaking out. And now it just - feels like I should  take care of it. Lay him to rest, you know?”  
  
There was a long silence. She clenched her fists, hands trembling.

“I don’t think that’s stupid at all,” Gavin said finally, and when she looked up his eyes were soft with sympathy. “What did he look like? I’ll keep an eye out for him.”  
  
Barbara stared at him - then broke into a small smile. She felt tears welling up in her throat and for a moment she almost wanted to hug him. 

“Thanks,” she whispered. “It was an older guy, long coat, dark hair, had a big backpack on.”  
  
She wiped at her face, feeling suddenly too vulnerable.

“It’s dumb to be so torn up about it,” she added. “This is how things are now. I guess it was only a matter of time until something like this happened. I’m just - I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but our group are kinda new at this. Except for Michael, we were holed up safely for the first two months.”  
  
“Suddenly a lot of things make sense,” Gavin replied, but shook his head. “No, I… the others are acting like it’s a good thing to leave what we knew behind. Gotta adapt to the new world, right? But… I don’t know.” He kicked at the ground, shoulders hunched and hands in his pocket, suddenly the one who seemed self conscious. “I think there’s some things that aren’t worth losing. Maybe it’s stupid to cling to them, but I don’t want _this_ to become normal. Maybe that’s how it is, but it isn’t _normal_.”  
  
“You’re right,” Barbara said, and he looked up tentatively.

“Really? Michael wouldn’t agree.”  
  
“God, no,” she snorted, “We’re probably not even meant to be talking to each other! He told us all to stay away from you lot.”  
  
“I intended to stay away too,” he said, and they both smiled at each other - a funny, shy sort of moment, “But I don’t know. I was trying to explain to him why I… why I see things this way but I think I just embarrassed myself.”  
  
“Oh my God, I feel like I’m constantly embarrassing myself in front of him too,” she said, excitedly. “The first time we left the apartment I was trying to hide how fucking terrified I was but I was convinced the whole time that he could tell I was shitting myself - especially when we first fought biters out on the road. And a couple weeks ago with the kite people? I was totally on your side, but when I tried to explain to him why, I just felt like he was staring at me like I was an idiot. He’s been out there so long I just - feel stupid when I try to argue against what he says. It always makes sense when he explains something, it just - feels wrong to me.”  
  
“Same,” Gavin said glumly. “And he definitely thought _I_ was an idiot. He told me I sound like a fridge magnet. That’s the worst part about being in charge. I keep worrying that everyone can tell I have no idea what I’m doing.”  
  
“I think we _all_ have no idea what we’re doing,” Barbara said, and Gavin laughed a bit. Her heart seemed lighter, and when he gestured back towards her camp she walked with him, glad for the company.

“Winter’s coming,” Gavin muttered ominously after a moment. “I think my group might actually have to leave the forest.”  
  
“Why?” Barbara asked, throat closing up a bit. She hadn’t realised until now how much safer it felt knowing there was another bunch of humans nearby.

"Well, for one, it’s fucking cold,” Gavin said. “For another, there’s not enough food around here, and the weather’s gonna make it hard to scavenge. I’m still worried about that horde in the city.”  
  
“I’m sure Michael has a plan,” Barbara murmured, and Gavin pulled a face.

“If it’s a good one, please share it,” he said, and only sounded like he was half-joking. “Because _I’m_ the one who needs to come up with a plan, and right now I’ve got fuck all.”  
  
“I’m sure you’ll think of something,” Barbara said, and squeezed his shoulders without thinking about it. 

They reached the treeline that bordered the campsite, where Ryan had set up a lot of his traps. In the distance she could see the thin plume of smoke from their campfire; she thought she caught a snatch of Michael’s voice, carried on the breeze. She glanced at Gavin, who was leaning against a tree nearby - staring vacantly at the leaves in front of him, lost in thought. After a moment she nudged him, and he startled.

“Sorry,” he said, “Zoned out for a second. Look,” he said, and pointed. It took her a moment to realise what he was trying to point out; there was some sort of… brown blob hanging from one of the branches on the tree.

“Is that a shit,” she said, and he barked out a laugh.

“A shit? No, what sort of shit would it be?”  
  
“I don’t know, a bird shit or something.”  
  
“It’s a bloody cocoon, Barbara!” He gently plucked it from the leaf it was attached to and cupped it in his palms, holding it out to her - she cringed back, pulling a face. “It’s not dirty, it’s a lovely little butterfly cocoon.”  
  
“It could be a big hairy moth inside for all you know,” she said. “Besides, it’s frozen solid.”

“No, it’s not. They deliberately go into a cocoon in the winter,” Gavin said. “They’re fine, they’re just sleeping. In the spring when it gets warm, it will hatch. Until then they need to stay cool.”  
  
He held it tenderly, peering closely at it. After a moment, despite herself, she leaned in to look too. Gavin glanced up at her and gave a small smile.

“I’ll leave him here,” he said, and gently placed the cocoon back on the tree. “In spring he’ll be beautiful.”  

“Yeah,” Barbara murmured. _Spring_ , that was months away - it felt like a lifetime. God knew where any of them would be then.

“I’ll let you get back to it,” Gavin said, and turned away then. She watched him walk off - wished, suddenly, he could stay.

“Gavin,” she called after him abruptly. He turned, curiously, and she swallowed.

“What do you dream about?” she heard herself ask.

Gavin paused, brows furrowing. He looked confused, and Barbara felt a bit embarrassed suddenly - but she forced herself to maintain eye contact. 

“Plane crashes,” Gavin said finally, and slipped away into the trees.

 ---

Aaron groaned weakly as Barbara smoothed a bandage over the wound on his leg.

“Sorry, sorry,” she whispered, and reached up to brush his sweaty hair back from his head. She grabbed one of the damp washcloths nearby and laid it over his brow, frowning as her hand brushed against his skin. He was still burning up, and for a moment her mind vividly flashed back to when the sickness had first broken out and she’d been the only one unaffected, nursing her flatmates fruitlessly until they finally slipped away. She’d felt so helpless then, so alone.

“How’s it looking?” Aaron croaked, staring up at her with bloodshot eyes. He tried for a smile and she could only smile sadly back. Aaron was an attractive guy, and under any other circumstances she might’ve felt shy around him, but right now he looked more dead than alive.

“I mean, Ryan’s stitches are holding up. It’s sort of looking better,” she replied. “We’re keeping it clean. Right now I’m more worried about that fever. I think we need medicine. But don’t worry,” she added, seeing the flicker of alarm in his eyes, “We’re gonna sort it out. Just rest up, okay? Keep drinking water if you can.”  
  
He nodded, eyes slipping shut again, and she took a shaky breath as she rose and left the trailer. 

Despite how cold it was, it was almost a relief to step out of the stagnant warmth. It’d been a week since Aaron cut his leg on one of Ryan’s biter traps and things had been going steadily downhill since then. It was clearly infected and without any doctors around Barbara was starting to get pretty fucking worried.

The others were clustered around the campfire. Barbara shook her head as she went to join them.

“I think the leg itself will be fine if we keep putting honey on it. It’s looking a bit better. But his fever’s not breaking. We need medicine to bring it down.”  
  
“We don’t have any,” Michael said. He was eating instant porridge out of a little container and even though he’d slept, his eyes were red. He glanced at the bus and gave an annoyed grunt. “The one fucking thing we didn’t bring from the apartment.”  
  
“Well, we’re gonna have to find some,” Barbara said, and bit her lip. “He’s burning up, I… I don’t think it’s gonna break on its own.”  
  
“Fuck,” Chris whispered, and she crouched next to him, resting a hand on his shoulder. She hadn’t had a lot of close friends in her life and it had been hard enough watching her uni friends pass from the fever. She couldn’t imagine how scared he must be. 

“We can’t get to the city,” Michael mused. “The hoard is still there.”  
  
“Maybe Gavin’s group has some,” Barbara proposed, shyly. “When Ryan and I went to check them out, they seemed really well stocked.”  
  
Michael snorted so loudly that for a moment she thought he was choking on his porridge. It didn’t help that beside him, Ryan unfolded his arms like he was ready to give him a good heimliching. 

“We got nothing to trade them! You think they’re gonna just hand over something as precious as meds for free?”  
  
“I think that sounds like exactly the sort of thing Gavin would do,” Barbara murmured, and Michael pulled a face that showed she knew he had a point.

“Either way,” he spat, “I’m not fucking asking that guy. He’s bad news. We don’t need his help.” 

_We do_ , Barbara thought, and tried to work up the nerve to say it out loud - but Ryan spoke first.

“I agree,” he said, coldly. “The last thing we want is to be in another group’s debt. There’s no guarantee they have what we need and if they don’t, we’ll have essentially informed them that our group’s weak at the moment.”  
  
He turned to Michael. 

“The town nearby has pharmacies. Even if they’ve been ransacked already, the houses might have something we can use.”  
  
“Let’s go there, then,” Michael announced. He set his porridge aside and looked around at them. “Ryan, I think it’s best if you come with me.”  
  
Ryan stiffened. 

“Why?” he demanded.

“Aside from the fact that it’s your idea? You’re a doctor, aren’t you - you’ll know what to get.”  
  
“Not _that_ sort of doctor,” Ryan hissed. “And it’s hardly rocket science, surely you’ve had a fever before! Anything with ibuprofen should do it.”  
  
“Either way, I want Barbara back here to guard the camp, and I don’t think Chris will want to leave Aaron’s side,” Michael pointed out. “I could go by myself, but we don’t know what’s in that town. Two would be safe.”  
  
[Barbara bit her lip. She wanted to argue, to tell them it would be much safer just to ask Gavin’s group first. What was the harm in checking, after all?](http://www.strawpoll.me/15225428) God knew what was in that town or how long it might take them to find what they were looking for. By the time they got back, Aaron might have gotten even worse. 

But she was an awkward fuck who was terrified of confrontation, and Michael was already striding off towards one of the cars they’d found. After a moment Ryan sighed heavily and trailed after him, and before she knew it, the moment was gone. 

\--- 

Ryan leaned against the car window, watching the forest flash by. Now and then they passed the shambling figure of a biter, or a pile of rotting remains by the side of the road – but they were going too fast for anything to come after them.

That didn’t stop him from feeling like he was going to throw up as they got further and further from the safety of the campsite. He felt like there were heavy stones in the pit of his stomach, and it was with great effort that he kept his face blank. 

Beside him, Michael drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. He’d been frowning since they left. 

Ryan hissed as the car bumped violently over some obstruction on the road. 

“Watch it,” he snapped. “Your driving is _shit_.”  

“Ain’t got a license,” was Michael’s eloquent response to that. 

“ _What_?”

“I haven’t driven in over a year, dude,” Michael informed him. Ryan clutched the door handle a little tighter. “Got in a bit of trouble and got suspended!” 

“How’d you get around?” 

“Partner used to drive me. After he fucked off, well… taxis exist.” 

“Pull over,” Ryan ordered, as they made a rather dubious swerve around a bend in the road that nearly sent him careening into the window. He caught Michael’s lips twitch and scowled, suspecting he was being fucked with. “I’ll drive.” 

“Nah, I need the practice,” Michael said. “Don’t worry, my eyesight’s not too bad without my glasses.” 

“ _Jesus_ ,” Ryan hissed, and shot him a filthy look when Michael laughed. He settled back in his seat, arms crossed, glaring at the road ahead. 

“No need to sulk,” Michael said, but after a moment even his smile faded, and he fell back into a brooding silence. 

It wasn’t hard to tell what he was worried about. Aaron wasn’t doing well at all and if he kicked the bucket Michael would be left with one less able fighter. Chris barely counted as one, and Ryan definitely didn’t. He swallowed. 

“I was thinking,” he piped up – he saw Michael glance at him, but stared ahead – “On the off chance that we don’t find what we need in the towns… it is definitely likely that Gavin’s group has medicine.” 

“Oh, don’t you start, too,” Michael said. 

“I’m not proposing we negotiate with him,” Ryan snapped. “But I know the layout of the camp pretty well…” 

He trailed off pointedly and Michael stared at him. 

“You wanna steal from him,” he said flatly. 

“It’s an option,” Ryan replied, voice tight. 

Michael was silent for a long moment, and when Ryan finally worked up the nerve to look over at him, his face was hard. 

“Look,” Michael said finally, “I know I was pretty… ruthless when it came to running those kite guys out of town, but they were clearly dangerous. Yeah, our safety is my priority, but not at the expensive of actively going out and fucking _other_ people over. And sure, I don’t trust him, but Gavin’s crew hasn’t actually _done_ anything to us yet, so…”  
  
_Yes, they have,_ Ryan thought, thinking with clenched fists of Edgar. _They stole from us. It would be perfectly justified to take something from them._ But he’d managed to avoid Michael finding out about that and he wasn’t about to bring it up now.

Still, now all he’d done was make Michael think he was an asshole who was willing to fuck other groups over willy nilly, and he grimaced, shutting his eyes. _Just can’t fucking win._  

“You think the town will have a lot of biters?” he asked, hoping to change the subject. 

“I don’t know this area that well,” Michael replied. “So I’m not sure how many people are in this town. Less than in the city, for sure, but God knows if they all evacuated or what.” 

“If it’s anything like the town I grew up in, they’re probably pretty spread out,” Ryan murmured. “With any luck, most people will be trapped in their houses instead of out and about.”  
  
“Hopefully,” Michael replied, and Ryan looked out the window again. As they left the forest behind he couldn’t help but grimace at the sight of little roadside motels, ads for a new bed and breakfast place, tack stores, cheery local businesses.

“This is already looking way too familiar,” he grumbled. 

Michael glanced at him again.

“I’m a city boy,” he said slowly. “Don’t think the small town life would ever be for me.”  
  
“It fucking sucks,” Ryan replied. “Everyone knows everyone else. Everyone’s constantly up in your business. Can’t escape your family name or reputation.”  
  
“Yeah?” Michael asked with a raised eyebrow, and Ryan felt suddenly self conscious, like he’d given away too much. “Where’d you go to uni?”  
  
“Georgia.” He felt clumsy suddenly, talking about something that wasn’t related to their survival. “It was… good to get away from home.”  
  
“I’ll bet,” Michael said, and swallowed. “Have you… did you manage to get in touch with your family when all this started?”  
  
There was something awkward in his voice, like he was just as unsure about reaching out as Ryan was about answering. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. 

He hadn’t contacted his family in a long time.

His oldest brother had tried to call him, back in the early stages of the outbreak - but Ryan had been too busy to answer, preoccupied with hopeless attempts at cures and vaccines and shit like that. So he’d ignored it. Sometimes, he regretted not picking up that call. By the time he’d tried to get in touch, it was too late.

_Surely they can’t all have gotten the fever. If I was immune, they probably are too - that’s the pattern we noticed at first, at least. Where are they now? Alex is probably taking care of them all_.

“No,” he said finally, “I didn’t. But I’m sure they’re alright. One of my brothers is in the army, he probably got my parents out. Not much _I_ could do for them anyway,” he snorted. 

“Hey, you…” Michael trailed off, a bit awkwardly, before changing to, “It’d still be nice to know.”  
  
“We were never that close,” Ryan replied, stiffly. And then, abruptly, “How about you?”  
  
He had to admit, he was curious about Michael - especially at the sudden flash of vulnerability on his face.

“Tried to call my ex when this all broke out,” he replied. His hands were white-knuckled around the steering wheel, and he let out a bitter, barking laugh. “But I think he blocked me. Most of my family died when I was younger. I wasn’t close to many people. I guess I’m lucky, in a way. There wasn’t a lot for me to lose.”  
  
“From a certain point of view, I suppose that’s true,” Ryan murmured.

“Guess it means I don’t have a lot to fight for, either,” Michael added, after a moment. “Chris and Aaron are close. If we lose him I… I don’t know what Chris will do. Even Gavin and his buddy Dan, it’s… I don’t know. I know it’s better not to be too close to anyone nowadays, but at least they know someone’s got their back.” He fidgeted, then said, quietly, “Having something to protect can be a good motivator.”  
  
Ryan wondered, abruptly, how he felt about the rest of them. If he still did this out of some obligation to Geoff, or if they were keeping him going, too. He’d seen Michael up late at night, whispering into his walkie-talkie - unlike Ryan, alone in his trailer in the dark.

“I find self preservation is its own driving motivation,” he murmured, and Michael snorted.

“Yeah, you would.”  
  
Ryan scowled. Something about his dismissive tone rankled.

“No one _wants_ to be a coward,” he snapped. “What is it you think, Michael? That I believe every one’s beneath me? That I’m _above_ relationships? That I’m enjoying thinking every day could be my last?”  
  
“You’re not making much of an effort,” Michael shot back. “You haven’t even gotten to know the rest of us-”  
  
“Who’s fucking interested?” Ryan demanded.

“There’s literally only five of us!” Michael cried. “Of course we’re interested in knowing each other! You just hide out in your trailer all day!”  
  
Ryan swallowed. A bitter annoyance was rising up in his chest. He wanted to pull away, retreat into himself. What could he say? That people had never been interested in _him_? He was smart, yeah - but not as smart as James, and not as strong as Alex, and not as charismatic as Daniel. The runt of the litter, the one everyone looked at and saw as nothing more than a whiny, selfish little brat. And maybe he was, as a kid - maybe his resentment simmered and came out as sarcasm and backchat and pushing everyone else away. 

He couldn’t think of an answer, so he decided not to give one - turning to look out the window instead. He saw Michael glance at him, but he didn’t push it, even as he must have realised how strained the silence had become - just kept driving, as the remains of cars and houses began to flash by them.

\--- 

“I’m sure he’s just sleeping,” said Barbara, who was not in fact at all sure he was sleeping.

“He won’t wake up though! I think he’s unconscious,” Chris cried, and pulled desperately at Aaron’s shoulder. 

His breathing was ragged, and when Barbara put a hand on his forehead, she frowned. He wasn’t sweating - his skin was hot and very dry. Dry was bad, right? She had no idea - but he definitely felt hotter than he had before. 

She gnawed at her bottom lip.

“Until they get back, there’s nothing we can do except try and cool him down,” she murmured.

“Should we move him outside?” asked Chris, turning to her with eyes like saucers.

“I… don’t know if that’s a good idea,” Barbara said. And then, when Chris kept staring at her, “I don’t know! I have no medical knowledge!”  
  
Chris’ face fell. He sat down again and mopped miserably at Aaron’s brow with the sponge. Barbara watched him, fidgeting unhappily. The thought flashed through her mind to just go to Gavin’s group anyway. 

_Michael will be pissed off._  

_Who cares? You know Gavin will help - it’s worth a try. Besides, he said himself he doesn’t want to make decisions all the time. Why not?  
  
_ “Chris,” she said slowly.

“Hm?”  
  
“I think I might go ask Gavin for the medicine,” she said, and braced herself for some sort of panicked refusal. “I’m just not sure how long the others will take… I know Michael will be upset but-”  
  
“Oh my God, please go. Thank you!” He jumped up and grabbed her hands, practically shaking with relief. “I was thinking earlier it would be easier to ask them. Want me to go?”  
  
“No, stay here with him,” Barbara said, very relieved herself. “I ran into Gavin in the forest earlier. I think he’ll help.”  
  
Chris nodded vigorously, and Barbara felt much more confident as she grabbed her knife and rushed out. 

\--- 

Her nerves returned the second she approached the others’ camp. Yes, she trusted Gavin, but the rest of his group? It was much bigger than hers and they were mostly strangers. 

_What if he’s not in?_ she worried, and only felt more and more uneasy as she got closer. She couldn’t help remembering how fucking terrified she’d been every time she had to walk into a new school on her first day. That never went away no matter how many times she did it. 

She saw a few people she didn’t recognise keeping watch at the edge of the camp, and her mouth went dry - but then she spotted Dan, leaning against the fence talking to one of them, and relaxed in relief.

“Dan!” she called out.

He spun around, gun raised - but relaxed when he saw her. She wondered if Gavin had told him they’d met earlier today.

“Barbara,” he said, and nodded as she approached. He looked confused, but not hostile. “What are you doing here?”  
  
“Is Gavin here? I need to talk to him.”  
  
“Who’s that?” one of the other men keeping guard snapped, but Dan raised a hand. 

“Part of that other group I told you about. She’s fine,” he added, “I know Gav’ll want to see her.”  
  
“You alone?” the guy demanded, and Barbara nodded.

“Yes - I just need to ask about something.”  
  
“You’re alright,” Dan said, “C’mon.”  
  
Dan put a hand on her shoulder and led her away; she was a bit flustered, but glad he’d stepped in as he took her through a series of scattered tents to where Gavin was bent over a picnic table, looking at a map with a cluster of others. She recognised Edgar and Flynt among them; Edgar waved when they looked up. Flynt just scowled and folded his arms.

“Hey B, Barb’s here to see you!” Dan called out.

“Hey,” Gavin said, straightening up. He seemed friendly but cautious. “Is everything okay?”  
  
“Yes - it’s all fine, I just wanted to talk to you about something.” She glanced around at the hostile stares of the others, feeling suddenly self conscious. _Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe Ryan had a point - we don’t know all these others. Do I really want to tell them all what a bad position we’re in right now?_  

Gavin seemed to sense her hesitation. He nodded and stepped towards her.

“Sure. Can you deal with this?” he asked Edgar, gesturing to the map, and Edgar nodded.

“Yeah, I’ll take a group out. Don’t worry, Gav, I got it.”  
  
“Thanks. C’mon,” he said, gesturing for Barbara to follow, “We can talk in my tent.”  
  
“What’s the issue?” Flynt called after them, sounding so suspicious that Gavin paused. “Why so secretive? If there’s nothing to hide, why not tell the whole group?”  
  
Gavin stiffened, and she saw him take a deep breath before replying.

“She just wants to talk, Flynt. Trust me to deal with this. Let’s go,” he added, taking her arm to lead her away.

“Didn’t think he swung that way,” she heard Flynt mutter behind them. Her ears burned red, discomfort swelling in the pit of her stomach. Beside her, Gavin’s shoulders tensed.

“One moment, Barbara,” he said, voice tight, and started to turn back around - but Dan was already stepping forward, his face like thunder. Barbara bit her lip, catching Gavin’s sleeve. He looked over and must’ve seen in her face that she didn’t want to start an incident - not here and now.

“Can we just go?” she whispered, and after a moment’s hesitation he nodded and they headed off together. 

\--- 

“Please let me get you something to drink,” Gavin said. 

Barbara couldn’t help her small smile.

“Wouldn’t want to use up your resources,” she said - she saw his lips twitch, but he shook his head.

“We have plenty of tea, if you like,” he said, and gestured for her to sit down. The tent was small and only a little warmer than outside. Barbara hadn’t realised until now quite what a stroke of luck it had been finding the trailers. She sat on a cushion on the ground while Gavin grabbed a thermos from nearby and two tin mugs. 

There was something… softer about his face in here compared to out there. She stared at him as she watched him pour the tea, trying to puzzle it out. It was like he’d been holding his whole body tense until now.  

He sat opposite her and unlooped his scarf, setting it aside. With a gentle smile he passed her the mug of tea. She took a sip, warmed by the gesture.  
  
“Thanks,” she murmured. Then, “That Flynt seems like a piece of work.”  
  
Gavin groaned as he sprawled back on the ground, propping himself up on one elbow so he could drink his tea.

“He’s not very happy with me lately,” he muttered. “Sorry about that. Dan’ll give him a talking to. What can I do for you?”

“Aaron’s sick,” Barbara replied softly. “He had a small injury but it got infected and now he’s got a bad fever. Michael and Ryan went to the city to try and find something to bring it down, but I… I don’t know if he has that long. If you have anything that could help I- I’d be willing to trade for it-”  
  
“Of course,” Gavin cut in. “We have some medicine I’d be happy to give you.”  
  
“Are you sure?” she couldn’t help asking. “That sort of thing’s precious nowadays. You don’t want to keep it for your group?”  
  
“I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again,” Gavin replied, “There are only two sides here. The living and the dead.”  
  
He sounded so fierce that Barbara couldn’t help but smile.

“I don’t know that everyone in your group thinks the same,” she murmured.

“They can think what they like,” he replied sharply. “They put me in charge, they can deal with the way I do things.”  
  
Something about the look on his face made her hesitate. She leaned forward and saw him staring out the door of the tent, throat working as he swallowed hard.

“Are _you_ okay?” she asked, and he glanced back at her and gave a strained grin.

“Yeah, just pissed at Flynt. Nothing I haven’t heard before,” he said with a wry sort of smile. She gazed at him sympathetically and after a moment he sat up a bit more, arms folding around his knees. “It’s just… hard sometimes. I’m their leader, but it’s fragile… I technically have no authority over them. They all know I’d never kick someone out of the group. I know Dan dealt with it, but I shouldn’t just let him talk to me like that. But I have no way to really punish anyone for infractions, we don’t really have rules or anything, so…”  
  
He trailed off with a shrug, and she shifted closer to pat his arm.

“They aren’t loyal to you?” she asked.

“Dan is,” he replied, “Not as sure about some of the others. He’s been great though! Saved my arse a good few times at the start. He was in the army for a bit, so. He’s made a lot of people fall in line, but he always wanted me to take the lead, so I guess they follow him who follows me.”  
  
“Would you say he’s done a _Dan good job_?” she asked, teasingly.  
  
“What?” 

“Dan like _damn_ , get it?” she nudged him. “Get iiit?”  
  
Gavin stared at her - then snorted and broke into a fit of laughter. Barbara giggled too, the tension broken. He shook his head, wordless.

“Must be nice having your friend here, though,” she added, and his grin faded a little.

“It’s a stroke of luck we were both in America when this happened,” he murmured. “Or maybe it isn’t.”  
  
“Your family’s back home?” she guessed, and he nodded eyes, eyes bright with tears. “Me too.”  
  
“Did you miss Canada? When you came here.”  
  
“Parts of it, but… I came here to study ‘cause I never fit in there.” She fidgeted. “Wanted a new start.”

 “Really?” he asked, and shifted a bit closer to her. “I never fit in much either. It sounds pathetic but Dan’s my only real friend from back home.”  
  
“I didn’t have many close friends,” Barbara admitted. “I… moved schools a lot. I was bullied pretty badly while I was over there.”  
  
Gavin’s face softened and when she looked at him he was staring at her with an almost awed look.

“Me too,” he said - her heart warmed suddenly, sensing some kindred spirit - “Really badly. I never moved schools, but after things… hit a low point, I took up martial arts. I’m pretty rusty now, but it helped me get more confident. And the… philosophy of it helped too.”  
  
She smiled at him, a bit sadly as they sat, a moment of silent camaraderie. She could imagine him being picked on - scrawny little Gavin with his wild hair and determination to think the best of people - he was an easy target, just like she’d been.  

“They’re probably all dead now,” she muttered, and Gavin looked at her in shock. 

“Christ, that’s morbid!”  
  
“It’s true!” she protested. “I won’t feel bad for thinking it. They made me _miserable_.”  

“I guess that’s part of why it’s easy to pretend to be calm nowadays,” Gavin agreed. “I’ve survived worse than this. But it’s… it’s definitely one reason why I want to help anyone I can now. A lot of people have used the end of the world as an excuse to become a bully. I refuse to let that happen to me. There’s never a good reason to treat others poorly.”  
  
Listening to him, it was easy to get swept up on it - easy to believe. But she could never forget what had happened out in those woods, and she looked away.

“I agree,” she whispered, “But it’s… hard. I didn’t want to kill that guy, but he - things _are_ different now, even if I don’t want them to be.”  
  
“Don’t get me wrong, you can’t let people push you around, either,” Gavin said. “One thing I learned, back when I was… was figuring out how to stand up for myself, is… you have to know when to be rock, and when to be water. When to stand your ground and when to let things pass. Bravery is standing up for yourself but it’s also forgiveness… acceptance.”  
  
She was staring at him, she realised, lost in his green eyes - and he blushed suddenly, burying his face in his mug.

“Sorry,” he said, “I sound like an idiot.”  
  
“No, not at all!”  
  
“Michael thought so when I tried to explain,” Gavin said. “He thinks I just spout all this shit but-”  
  
“Michael doesn’t know everything,” Barbara found herself saying, in a rare moment of irritation. “He wouldn’t let me come ask you for help.”  
  
“Not surprised,” Gavin said, and shook his head, a disappointed look on his face. “I hope he comes around soon. I just don’t see what good isolating ourselves does. Anyway - I’ll go grab you that medicine. How was the tea?” he added, as he got to his feet. 

“Teariffic,” Barbara said automatically.

“You’re the worst,” he replied fondly, and left her sitting in the tent. As he vanished Barbara couldn’t help her sigh, pulling her knees up and biting her lip.

She liked Michael, even if she didn’t agree with his approach. He’d kept them safe and risked his life for them, time and time again, and objectively she could see exactly why he acted the way he did - exactly why that was probably a _good_ thing. Not only that, but she still found herself wanting his approval - holding him up as the barometer of what _surviving_ meant, what she had to reach in order to finally be safe here. 

But she couldn’t help being drawn more towards Gavin’s way of doing things, idealistic as it was. She couldn’t help but want to _hope_.

\--- 

Ryan watched as Michael yanked his blade free of the final biter in the street where they’d parked their car. It crumpled to the ground with a _thud_ \- it had been a beast of a man, a head taller than him and twice as wide, and they’d struggled for a while before Michael managed to get his knife through its ear. He was panting, and as Ryan watched he swiped a hand across his brow, wiping away the sweat, and stood for a moment, gathering himself.   

His eyes lingered on the blood dripping from the tip of Michael’s blade - his muscular shoulders under his coat. A mix of jealousy and admiration burned in his blood. 

Michael turned then and gave him a fierce grin. For a flash of a moment - a stupid, fleeting daydream - Ryan imagined being as much of a badass as that. Imagined standing back to back with him, swinging his baseball bat, skulls crunching under each blow as biters fell around him. Like something out of an action movie. 

“Too easy,” Michael said, and Ryan jolted as it slipped away - he stood by the car, clutching the bat where he’d been this whole time, watching in terror. He felt nothing but pathetic. “Come on.”  
  
He beckoned Ryan towards the chemist. They’d checked three in this town already, and come up with _nothing_ \- all already looted. Someone seemed to have swept through and taken anything worth scavenging.  

_Probably Gavin’s lot_ , Ryan thought grimly. He knew Michael probably assumed the same thing.

Michael groaned as they got closer and he pushed at the door. It swung in on broken hinges, revealing a dark interior.

“Fuck,” he hissed.

“They still might’ve left something,” Ryan murmured. “If we’re lucky. But the chances are statistically low - if they could carry the stuff, why not take it all? Drugs are small and light. You can fit a lot in a car boot.”  
  
“You’re giving me a lot of hope here, buddy,” Michael snapped. They strode in and Ryan grimaced - the shelves were empty of anything useful, a few knocked over, bottles of hair dye and useless trinkets strewn across the carpet. Michael jogged over it all and vaulted over the counter - why, Ryan wondered bitterly, did God gift some people with such natural grace and not others - and marched into the back room.

“Oh! Found two things!” he called back, and Ryan’s heart raced.

“What?” he asked excitedly.

Michael’s head popped back out and he lifted his empty hands.

“ _Fuck_ and _all_ ,” he said, and Ryan slumped, too disappointed to even be annoyed by his antics. 

He watched as Michael leaned in the doorway to the pharmacy, closing his eyes for a moment. Ryan could see the strain in his face - knew he was worried and trying to hide it. Hell, _Ryan_ was worried and trying to hide it. If they lost Aaron…

_Fuck_.  

He walked over to the counter and pulled out the map they’d found in a newsagent nearby.

“That’s the last pharmacy building,” he began, and jumped a bit when Michael slammed a fist against the doorframe.

“Damn it!”  
  
“I’m not done,” Ryan said. “There’s a shopping centre around the corner.  If we’re lucky, there might be a pharmacy inside there.”  
  
Michael looked at him. His eyes widened slowly. 

“You’re right,” he said. “It’d be less likely to be ransacked, too, since it’s not out on the street. Thing is, there might be a lot of biters in there. If there’s one place they’re likely to congregate, it’s somewhere public like that.”  
  
“We don’t have much other choice,” Ryan replied, glumly. “If we don’t find it here in the town, the city’s our only other option, and it’ll take days to get in and out of there with the horde around.”  
  
“Well.” Michael heaved himself up and headed for the door. “Let’s give it a try.”  
  
\--- 

The shopping centre was small, considering it was a little town, and the entrance was set off an outdoor car park. Even from across the street Ryan could see the parking lot was absolutely crawling with biters - a big, shifting mass of them swarmed around the doors, so many that he could barely tell where one rotting body bumped against another.

“Shit,” he hissed - his whole body was covered in a cold sweat. He could see tents nearby and a military truck. “Looks like they tried to set up some sort of quarantine zone here. They’ve gathered everyone in one spot.”  
  
“Got bombs?” Michael asked. He was staring at the biters too, but if he was as scared as Ryan was, he was hiding it well. “I’m hoping inside it’ll be less crowded. They might all be out here. If we can get past them-”  
  
“I’m not running past that,” Ryan blurted out. His stomach was twisted in knots and his palms were sweating.

“We don’t have much choice,” Michael replied, distractedly. His eyes were tracking a path around the building and the second Ryan tried to imagine it… 

“I’m _not_ ,” he repeated. His chest was seizing up just at the thought of it, as he looked at the sea of shifting, discoloured flesh, the bodies bumping mindlessly against one another - as he imagined the grasping hands and the mingling voices hissing and grunting, as he imagined the _smell_ , as he imagined being grabbed and pushed and overrun, stuck in the middle of the crowd as nails began to dig into his skin and teeth snapped at his neck- 

He fumbled in the footwell for the bag of bombs they’d brought and shoved it at Michael.

“Here,” he stammered, “You go. I’ll mind the car-”

“ _Dude_ ,” Michael demanded incredulously. Somehow, no matter how many times it happened, the sheer frustration and disbelief in his voice still hurt. “You’re bailing _now?”_  
  
“I’ve been bailing this whole time,” Ryan pointed out through gritted teeth. “I’ll only slow you down in there, I can’t-”  
  
“This is exactly why I told you to practice and prepare!” Michael cried.  

Ryan looked away. Out the window, one of the biters turned and shambled towards them. For a moment he thought it was coming at them, and panic spiked through his chest - but it turned at the last second. Even so, he couldn’t breathe, sat frozen to the spot feeling like every gasp of air was a struggle, his heart aching. He realised, distantly, that he was freaking the fuck out, his hand clenched so tightly around the door handle that all his fingers had turned white. 

Michael twisted around and looked at him. Ryan couldn’t bring himself to turn and meet his gaze, but whatever Michael saw in his face, it made him pause for a second. Then he started backing up the car.

“We’re leaving?” Ryan gasped.

“No, idiot, we’re not fucking leaving!” Michael snapped. “You can’t stay here. If they surround the car you’re done for.”  
  
He pointed to a nearby house. It was surrounded by a high wall and a barred gate, a long driveway sloping up through an overgrown garden. The gate was open and he drove inside. Ryan could barely focus; was fixated on the biters swarming like ants across the road. He was dimly aware of Michael getting out of the car, searching around for something, and then returning. 

“Ryan- _Ryan!_ ” 

Michael grabbed his arm and shook him, and Ryan jolted, staring at him. He realised that he was breathing too fast, his chest heaving frantically. Everything felt strange; a little distant, a little numb- 

“You need to _focus_ ,” Michael was shouting, and Ryan squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself to pause - to breathe slowly and wrest himself back under control. 

“Okay,” he heard himself say quietly. “Okay. I’m alright.” 

“Good,” Michael said. He seemed to realise abruptly that he was still holding onto Ryan, and let go of him quickly. Ryan opened his eyes and Michael pointed to the shopping centre.

“I’m gonna use the bombs to distract them and get in the front, but I might not come out the same way. There are two side exits that I’m hoping might be clearer. When I call you, I need you to bring the car around to wherever I am. Until then, wait here. I’ll shut the gate. Got it?”  
  
“Got it,” Ryan said, and Michael tossed him one of the spare walkie talkies they’d found as well as the remote gate key. 

“Keep the doors locked,” he hissed. “If you stay quiet they shouldn’t come over here. I’ll try and be quick.”  
  
Ryan nodded. Michael stared at him a moment longer before shutting the car door and jogging off, closing the gate behind him. Ryan watched him leave in the rear view mirror. Each step he took away from the car was terrifying; as much as Ryan didn’t want to go with him, being left alone here was just as nerve wracking. 

_Breathe_ , he thought, and clenched his fists. The panic that had overtaken him a moment ago was alarming. The only other time he could remember losing control so completely was before the speech he’d been meant to give at his grandfather’s funeral. He still remembered sitting under the stairs, thirteen years old and certain that he was about to have a heart attack, too - everything seemed to be closing in and he couldn’t _breathe_ and he’d been convinced he was about to die. He remembered James trying to coax him out - gently at first, then angrily - remembered how they gave up and left him there and the disappointment in his parents’ faces afterwards. They’d ignored him for two days after that. 

_You are not a child anymore,_ he thought angrily, and clenched his fists. He was glad this one had passed quickly, and he pressed himself into his seat, clutching the walkie talkie and waiting, hoping to God Michael was fine. 

\--- 

Ryan wasn’t sure how long he sat there for, but he slipped into a daze only to startle when he heard a gunshot behind him - somewhere down the road.

“Fuck!” a woman’s voice was yelling - a second gunshot, and running footsteps. 

His heart nearly stopped and he scrambled up in his seat, twisting to look out the back windscreen of the car. Two figures were pelting down the road, and biters from the car park were swarming after them. Ryan stared, horrified, as they drew closer and closer to him. A tall young man and a tiny blonde woman - both with guns, the man turning as he ran to fire more shots at the biters getting closest.

_Were they at the shops? Did they encounter Michael? They could be hostile - fuck, they’re bringing them here, they’re bringing them all here-_

Firing the guns had been a bad fucking idea. It had only drawn more biters from down the road and they were converging on the two from both sides. The man’s gun clicked emptily and he gave a yell of frustration. They spun around in the street, searching frantically for a way out-

Ryan ducked down into the footwell as they turned towards him, but he was too late. They’d seen him staring at them in the car and they were already running towards the gate.

“Hey, hey!” the man yelled, leaping up and hammering on the bars. They rattled with a metallic clash. “Let us in, dude, please-”  
  
“We’re dead out here! Open the gate!” the woman cried, backing up next to him. 

The biters were closing in around them, Ryan realised, horrified. If he opened the gate they’d probably come in too. He sat frozen, staring up at the rear view mirror, not daring to turn around and look at them.

“Can he hear us?” he heard the man say. 

_Fuck._ He squeezed his eyes shut, heard another gunshot ring out - then another empty click.

 “I’m out!” the woman yelled.

_Gavin would let them in._ The thought flashed through his head, as he remembered Michael’s snide comments around the campfire about the way the confrontation in the forest had gone. _Idiot thinks he’s being brave but he’s just being stupid_. But Ryan was not Gavin, and he wasn’t brave, and he couldn’t move. He couldn’t bring himself to turn, but sat paralysed, watching the mirror with wide eyes.

“Damn it!” the man roared, and banged a fist against the gate - Ryan flinched - the sheer horror and desperation in his face was visible even from a distance. He pulled out his knife and took on the closest biter, then a second, but there were too many as the wave from the car park swarmed them. “Elyse, I’ll lift you over-”  
  
“I’m not leaving you!” she yelled, but it was already too late. In a mass of seething bodies, the biters were on them, and the last thing Ryan saw before he closed his eyes was the man flinging himself over the woman, in some futile effort to protect her.

“Fuck, fuck,” he whispered, and squeezed his eyes shut, huddled on the floor of the car - listening to the horrible sounds, the screams and groans and sobs that choked off into nothing but silence, and the wet noises of tearing flesh. After a moment, he lifted his hands and clamped them over his ears. 

_You could have gotten there in time._

_If you’d run…_  

His mind was racing and already he was thinking, _no, it was too late - there was a high chance the biters would have gotten in too. Or they might have been dangerous, like Edgar. Or the biters might have swarmed the gate and you’d all have been trapped in here._ _Statistically, this was the best choice to ensure your safety._  

_Statistically..._  

But the guilt was already weighing heavily in his chest. He could feel himself shaking, tears running down his cheeks, and curled up tighter, huddled in the footwell, trembling.

\--- 

“What are you doing?”  
  
Gavin whirled around from where he’d been getting the medicine from inside a shack where they kept all their supplies. Once it’d held rowing equipment; they’d cleared all that out and now the dusty shelves were instead lined with crates of canned food, spare clothes, batteries, medical supplies.

The camp was very quiet - all he could hear was the wind flapping against their tarpaulins and tents outside. Just about everyone was out on their daily scavenging routine. But Flynt - Flynt stood in the doorway, staring at him with a raised eyebrow. Gavin swallowed and straightened up, something nervous fluttering in his stomach. 

What he’d told Barbara about why he seemed so calm was true, the apocalypse was _far_ from his lowest point in life. But there was another reason - when you were certain of what was _right_ , it was easier to hold steady. 

“No one here is sick,” Flynt continued, his voice a low growl. “She asked for medicine, didn’t she?”  
  
“Flynt-”  
  
“And you’re just gonna _give it_ to her?”  
  
He stepped forward. Gavin swallowed and straightened up, shoving the packet of pills in his pocket. He could see how angry Flynt was - his black eyes glinting menacingly, his shoulders hunched. The other man was bigger than him and the shed didn’t give him much room to maneuver. His eyes darted past Flynt to the doorway - Flynt noticed, and barked out a harsh laugh.

“Your little boyfriends are both out scavenging,” he sneered. “No one’s coming to stand up for you now.”  
  
“Do I need them to?” Gavin asked challengingly, and took a step forward himself. “Another group of _humans_ is in trouble. Of course I’m going to help them.”  
  
“Without consulting the rest of us?” Flynt snapped. He gestured furiously to the medicine box. “That shit’s precious. _We_ might need it.”  
  
“And one day _we_ might need their help!” Gavin fired back. “Last I checked, I was the one who made these calls. Not you.”  
  
He tried to shoulder his way past Flynt, but the other man seized his arm and shoved him furiously back. Gavin caught himself against the wall, heart racing.

“Hey,” Flynt snapped, advancing on him, “I’m in the middle of talking to you!”  
  
“And I’m in the middle of doing something!” Gavin snarled. “Don’t push me again-”  
  
Flynt grabbed his arm and shook him, hard. Gavin couldn’t help his gasp; he could feel how strong the other man was, and the raw anger in his movements. Instinctively, he reached up and grabbed Flynt’s hand - managed to seize a finger and threatened to snap it back.

“Let go of me,” he said, but Flynt just stared at him with narrowed eyes, leaning in so close that Gavin could feel his breath against his face.

“You wouldn’t, you bitch,” he whispered furiously, and yanked Gavin close. “Listen here. You’re endangering this group, and I won’t stand for it. _Others_ won’t stand for it. People are starting to get pretty fucking unhappy with you around here and I suggest you listen to the collective, or maybe someone else should be in charge.” Gavin stiffened, and Flynt let out a grunting laugh. “I’ll admit, you did well getting us out here at first. But this isn’t the beginning any more. The world ain’t changing, so we’re gonna need to start adapting what we do around here - _listen to me_.”  
  
He tightened his grip as Gavin tried to pull free and Gavin looked up and met his gaze, eyes blazing.

“Are you threatening me?” he asked, quietly.

“What’re you gonna do about it?” Flynt spat. “You _need_ me. I’m the best at fighting in this group and you’re hardly about to kick me out. You’re running out of options, Free.”  
  
Gavin stared at him, eyes blazing. His arm hurt but he didn’t let it show. There was something terrifying about Flynt’s dark eyes, his pupils like a black void, the coldness in his face. After a moment he let go and Gavin immediately pulled free and stalked out, a chill running down his spine.

He paused outside the shed, taking a moment to breathe. 

He felt too weak. 

Too much like _before_ , long, long ago when he used to walk through school halls with his shoulders hunched trying as hard as he could to be invisible. Like if he made himself small enough maybe people’s gazes would pass right over him. Like if he tried hard enough he could become a shadow. He’d felt powerless, then, at the whims of a violent tide. 

And Flynt was right. He _did_ need him. He was strong and fierce and had killed more biters than any other one of them. He’d provided a lot for the group on his runs. 

He swallowed hard, absently rubbing his arm. 

_Keep going,_ was all he could think fruitlessly, _things will work out somehow. Stick to what’s right. Maybe they won’t listen but you can’t give up on what you believe in._

\--- 

“Nothing,” Michael spat, as he hurled himself into the passenger seat. “At least it was pretty empty in there, so I picked up some food without much trouble. But the only chemist sort of place there just sold toiletries and shit, not medicine. God fucking _damn it_!”  

Ryan silently turned the car and began to drive back towards the highway. The windscreen was spattered with blood and gore where he’d hit two biters on his way out of the house. The screams still rang in his ears and he was trying not to think about it. When he glanced up at himself in the rear view mirror, his face was pale as a ghost and his eyes red. 

Michael looked over at him.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he demanded.

Ryan swallowed. It took him a few tries to find the voice to answer him.

“Nothing,” he said. 

“You look like you’ve seen a damn ghost,” Michael said, and slumped back in his seat, reaching up and pulling at his hair. His clothes, Ryan couldn’t help but notice, were spattered with blood where he’d taken out some biters. He could smell it from here, acrid and metallic, and felt so nauseous that he nearly pulled the car over. The image of the man flinging himself over the woman - _Elyse, she had a fucking name -_ flashed through his mind. 

_Don’t think about it -_ but how couldn’t he?  
  
“Shit,” Michael kept saying - _God_ , Ryan couldn’t help but think irritably, _won’t he shut up, just for a fucking second?_ “Shit, shit. I don’t know what we’re gonna do.” 

“Are you sure you checked properly?” Ryan demanded, and Michael bristled.

“Of course,” he snapped, “You think I’m an idiot? I checked real fucking thoroughly and don’t you dare fucking say a word about it when _you_ refused to come in!”  
  
He was angry, Ryan realised, absently, he was angry and disappointed and really fucking scared about what they were gonna do, and now he was gonna lash out at the closest target. He could see it in Michael’s face, the same pinched look Alex used to get when he’d been drinking.

“It wasn’t even that hard, you know. When the bombs distracted them I got straight past. There’s gonna come a day when you regret not learning this shit, you know. The longer you put it off the worse it’s gonna get. It’s actually fucking pathetic, you know, Ryan? Most people like you died off long ago.”  
  
“Alright-”  
  
“No, not _alright_. If Aaron-” he broke off with a choked noise, but gathered himself and pushed on. “God forbid, but if Aaron _dies_ , it’s not gonna be on just Barb and Chris and I to hold the fort. You’re gonna need to do your part too. You’re a grown ass man and you shouldn’t need us holding your hand anymore. If you wanna be part of the group you gotta pull your fucking weight or all you’re doing is putting the rest of us at risk. If he dies, it’s practically on you!”  
  
Ryan felt his blood run cold and a spike of guilt rise in his chest. Not about Aaron - about the other two, the ones Michael didn’t even fucking know about. If he did - God, if he knew about all Ryan’s moments of weakness, if he knew what a liability he was-

He was already staring at Ryan in disgust. What would it turn to, if he knew? Horror. Pure contempt. Fury, probably. Michael was tough, but at heart - at heart he wasn’t a bad person, Ryan thought. He wouldn’t still be around if he was. 

_But you? What sort of man sits and covers his eyes while people are being killed just metres away from him?  
  
You could have saved them._  

“I don’t owe anyone a fucking thing,” he spat, and turned to Michael. It was easier to feel anger than to feel guilt. “I’ve done more for this group than anyone! If it wasn’t for me you wouldn’t even have _had_ the bombs to distract those things! We’re not all fighters, Michael. That doesn’t make me worth any fucking _less_ than you. If you wanted someone to run into danger with you, you should’ve brought Barbara along. And don’t you _dare_ tell me I shouldn’t be part of this group when the only reason _you’re_ still here is because you feel fucking guilty over getting Geoff killed!”  
  
Michael went pale as a ghost.

“That’s right,” Ryan snapped, cruelly - he was the one to lash out, now, the one who wanted to make Michael feel as shit as he was, to not be the only one standing in the shadows of shame. “ _You’re_ the one with blood on your fucking hands here.”  
  
Michael look shell-shocked.

“I didn’t,” he protested, “I didn’t _get_ him killed.” But Ryan could see the guilt in his face, and pettily thought, _good._

“Died saving you, isn’t that right? You didn’t ask him to, but it’s still your fucking fault,” he spat. Still - it didn’t make him feel better to see Michael flinch. “Lone wolf, isn’t that what you fucking said? So don’t act like you’re so much fucking better than the rest of us, like you’ve got such _noble intentions_. If I wanted that I’d go see Gavin.”  
  
Michael was silent, and Ryan turned his gaze back to the road. He just felt sad and heavy now, and all he wanted to do was curl up in bed and fucking cry, to be honest. To close his eyes and not have to deal with this - this whole _mess._  

Beside him, he could hear Michael breathing heavily. 

“Geoff was a better man than both of us,” he said finally, quietly. Ryan didn’t look at him. “But even he knew that there was no hiding from this world forever, no matter how much we want to. So man the fuck up, Ryan, for your own sake.”  
  
Ryan bit his lip, turned away. It was easy to be weak, he thought. Just like it had always been easier to push people away than to get close and risk the same disappointment he’d faced so many other times. Thing was, his weakness now had a body count - and as they headed back towards camp he felt more isolated than ever, knowing there was no one back there to talk to - no one who cared at all. 

\--- 

Gavin was frowning when he re-entered the tent, and Barbara sat up a bit.

 “Everything alright?” she asked carefully. 

Gavin’s smile looked forced; there was something strained in his eyes. He’d only been gone ten minutes; Barbara wasn’t sure what could’ve happened in so short a time.

“I’m fine, love, thanks,” he replied, but sounded distracted. Still - he offered a box of pills and Barbara took it. Relief flooded her chest as she put it in her pocket.

“Thank you,” she said, clasping Gavin’s hand tightly for a moment. “I’m serious, I owe you, dude. You’ve probably saved his damn life.”  
  
Gavin nodded, but he still seemed distracted. Barbara was too, as she got up and got ready to leave, hoping desperately she wasn’t too late, flooded with relief that this had worked out. Gavin caught at her sleeve as she headed for the tent door.

“Gav?” she asked, turning. 

“Three months,” he said - his eyes were a little vacant, like he was lost in his own world. “How much more is there to come? One day this'll all be over, it has to be. What then?” 

Barbara blinked a few times. _What’s gotten into him_? But she took hold of his hands, gently.

“We rebuild,” she whispered.

“Do you really believe that?” he asked, and swallowed. “Do you… really think that’s possible?”  
  
“Yes,” she urged, “I do. I’ve seen, I’ve _seen_ … our previous leader. He risked his life for a group he owed nothing to. A man who’s lost everything - I’ve seen him gather anyone he could, take them in, give them a home and a family and die for someone he barely knew.”  
  
Gavin’s eyes were wide, fixed on hers like he was drinking in every word.

“I’ve seen Michael come back,” she continued, “He didn’t have to, he didn’t _want_ to. But he’s taken care of us. He… he has his faults, but I think he has a good heart. And I’ve seen _you_ , Gavin - trying so hard even when everyone’s telling you not to.”

She squeezed his hands and his smile was a little more genuine this time.

“I think shit like that matters,” she said - her heart was racing and she understood, suddenly, how Gavin could look so fierce when he went on about this stuff. “There’s gotta be others out there who are the same. And I want to see a future where we rebuild. I really think it can happen.”  
  
“When all the stiffs are dead,” Gavin murmured.

“Why do you call them that?” Barbara couldn’t help asking, and Gavin blinked and stared at her.

“What, stiffs? Because when you’re dead your body goes all stiff!”  
  
“But they don’t!” she laughed, “They’re soft like any human is, probably softer because they’re all rotten! Whenever you say stiffs, I just think of a boner.”  
  
“ _Barbara_ ,” he gasped, affronted.

“Like a stiffie!” she pointed out. “Oh, come on, don’t give me that look, it’s obvious. I didn’t have to reach very _hard_ for that one. I didn’t have to go to extreme _lengths_ to come up with it.”  
  
“Oh my fucking God, can you stop,” he said, but he was giggling now.

“Sorry,” she replied, grinning widely, “Hope I haven’t cocked up this budding friendship.”  
  
“You’re a bloody travesty,” he said, shaking his head. “What is it you lot call them again?”  
  
“Biters,” she replied, “Cause they bite.”  
  
“Yeah, but they scratch too,” he retorted, “How about that? When we met Edgar, he was calling them walkers. I might switch to that because now that you’ve pointed it out, I won’t be able to not think of dicks whenever I see one.”  
  
“Horrible, cold, blue, undead dicks,” Barbara said, nodding sagely.

“ _Blue?_ Why would they be blue?” Gavin squawked.

“Because! There’s no blood in them!”  
  
“They don’t turn _blue_! It’s not an army of undead smurfs out there! My dick’s not hard right now but I assure you it is definitely not blue.”  
  
Barbara just giggled. Gavin still looked tired, but he was smiling properly now.

“Something I’ve been wanting to do,” he said then, more seriously, “Since I ran into you guys, is start going out actively looking for other groups. Start all joining together. But Michael won’t even give me the time of day. If our two groups can’t even unite, what chance is there?”  
  
“Plenty of chances,” Barbara assured him. “I like that idea. Scouting for other survivors, bringing everyone together. The earlier that happens, the better. I think as time goes on, it’ll only get harder.”  
  
Gavin nodded.

“I agree,” he murmured, “But I can’t leave my group. I’m worried what’ll happen if I go.”  
  
“You’ll figure it out,” Barbara assured him, and patted her pocket where the medicine was. “I think Michael might come around when he sees these.”  
  
Gavin smiled - and Barbara decided, then and then, that she was gonna be the emissary. She’d never been more sure of something in her life. They weren’t staying away from Gavin’s people, no matter what Michael said. She’d be the one who reached out. No more killing, no more leaving people behind, no freezing up like she had in the forest. She’d figure out their policy for letting people join, figure out the way things would work - and then she’d reach out.

“Thank you, Gavin,” she murmured. “I gotta get back to Aaron, but I’m hoping I’ll see you again soon.”  
  
“I hope so too,” he said earnestly. “I think getting our groups working together would show the people in my group who are full of doubt just what exactly it is I’m trying to do here.”  
  
Barbara nodded. On a whim, she reached for a hug - Gavin met her immediately, hugging her back. Up close he seemed smaller, thin and bony under his thick jumper - but as she rested her head on his shoulder, his arms tight around her back, she felt safer than she had in a long time. 

\---

Michael definitely did not come around when he saw the meds.

“What the _fuck_?” he kept saying. “What the fuck, what the fuck, you fucking went to _him_?”  
  
“Yes, Michael,” Barbara replied patiently, “Yes, I fucking went to him. And just like I thought he would, he gave them to us right away. I’m not gonna apologise,” _for once_ , she thought, and then, _I’m so sorry, Canada_ , “Because Aaron’s sleeping peacefully right now, and it’s not like you guys found the stuff in town.”  
  
Michael glanced at Ryan like he thought the other man would back him up - but he was gazing vacantly into the distance. Barbara frowned at him in concern. There was something in his eyes - a blank sort of horror, the same thing she’d seen in a lot of people in the quarantine shelter she’d been in for a while. Some hidden trauma, like they’d seen things they’d never forget, things that haunted them in their sleep. After a moment, he turned and drifted off to his trailer in silence.

“What’s wrong with him?” Barbara asked, worried.

“I don’t know,” Michael said, but clearly had other things on his mind. He took her arm and stepped close. “Barb, you can’t _do_ shit like that. We decide on these things as a _group_.”  
  
“Don’t try and intimidate me,” she replied, and he let go immediately and took a step back.

“I wasn’t trying to,” he said. “Sorry, I wasn’t-”  
  
“It’s fine,” she said, and took a deep breath. “Chris wanted me to go, too. You and Ryan, me and Chris… it was an even vote.”  
  
“You owe him now,” Michael said bluntly. “He’s gonna come cash in that favour at some point.”  
  
“No,” Barbara said, and there was something of Gavin’s calm certainty in her voice, “He might possibly come and ask for help from another group of _humans_ one day - help I will gladly give him, because one good turn deserves another. Because it’s the right thing to do.”  
  
“Barb-”  
  
“I think our groups should work together.” The confidence in her own voice surprised her; the fact that she’d interrupted him even more so. “I think as many humans should stick together as possible. And once we’re more settled, I’d love to go looking for more survivors.”  
  
Michael was looking at her like she’d grown two damn heads.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he said finally. “He’s filled your head with his shit, too!”  
  
“It’s not _shit_ , Michael,” she protested, “Just because you don’t agree with it doesn’t mean it’s shit!”  
  
So it turned out standing up for herself actually felt good. It was a lot less scary than she’d expected. Once the first word came out, the rest flowed easily. Michael looked very pained, and after a moment she softened and reached out to squeeze his shoulder.

“Just because your friend Brown had some bad experiences doesn’t mean _everyone_ out there is bad,” she said softly. “After all, he’s not bad, is he? Or you-”  
  
“I’m not-”  
  
“You’re _not_ , Michael,” she insisted. “You’ve helped us so much. And Gavin’s not bad either. And I think you know it - you’re just scared to get close. Scared that this won’t work. But we should give it a _chance_ , shouldn’t we?”  
  
Michael swallowed. For a moment, he looked broken and vulnerable and very, very tired. Barbara stepped closer, clasping his arms tightly.

“Thank you for going out there and risking your life to try and get Aaron those meds,” she said softly. “You’ve taken really good care of us. I’m sorry you couldn’t find what you needed out there. We’re not always going to. That’s why we need others around to help us.”  
  
Michael looked away, something pained in his eyes. 

“I’ve made some hard decisions as well,” Barbara said. “But all they’ve made me realise is that I won’t let this world scare me into becoming something other than who I am.”  
  
“And what if,” Michael said slowly, “Who I am isn’t very nice? I’ve done things, Barb - _before_ , I-”  
  
“I don’t care what you did before,” Barbara replied. “Before is _gone_ \- but we have a chance to build something new now.”   

She felt embarrassed again, just for a second, at such an inspirational speech - but Michael just nodded, and even if he looked like he was just too tired to argue right now, she fancied there was something thoughtful in his eyes too. She squeezed his shoulder before turning and heading into the trailer.

Chris sat by Aaron’s side. He looked exhausted, but he glanced up at her and smiled.

“Thank you,” he whispered, and she smiled and sat beside him, reaching to hold Aaron’s hand as well. 

\---

People were whispering. 

Gavin could see it - little groups clustering among his people, Flynt talking to people who he usually avoided. Could feel too many eyes on him - but no one was coming to tell him if they had a problem. Just watching, waiting.

He had a bad feeling, a sinking, inevitable sort of dread in the pit of his stomach. He thought of Michael’s group, across the woods, and wished he was there with them now. Just to sit around the fire with them, talk to them more, talk to Barbara - try to work on building something here. He wanted Dan and Edgar - but both of them were out on a scavenge and they wouldn’t be back until late. 

For now, he tried to ignore Flynt lurking like a shadow in his black coat at the edges of the campsite. Went to sit with Ellie instead, at their own campfire, reaching out to try futilely to warm his hands. She looked up and smiled gently at him - she was the one person he’d noticed Flynt hadn’t approached.

“Food’s getting low,” she said, and glanced up at the sky. “And I think it’s gonna rain.”  
  
“There’s a storm coming,” he murmured, and turned away. Tried to ignore the concerned look she was giving him - focused instead on the little gold cross swinging on a chain around her neck, glinting in the firelight. 

\--- 

The sun was sinking as Barbara stalked through the woods - red and gold light filtering through the leaves of the trees, dark shadows looming. It was evening, and the hardest time to see properly out here - but this time, she didn’t feel like she was lost in a dream. This time, she wasn’t scared.

When she saw him, she recognised him instantly - a silhouette at the edge of the treeline. He turned, growling - his face swollen and purple, eyes cloudy white, lips twisted into a rotting sneer. 

“Hey,” she whispered, and stepped forward. She could still see her knife, stuck inside his ribs. He lurched towards her, slowed by the heavy back on his shoulders - and she advanced slowly. 

The sounds he was making were awful - choked little groans, almost whimpers like he was trying to form words but couldn’t, his lips and chin smeared with blood. She’d thought this would be hard, but it wasn’t. It was startlingly easy, just like the drills she’d done time and time again with Michael at the fenceline. She grabbed the front of his shirt, held him at bay. Avoided his flailing arms as she sank her knife into the side of his head. The noises stopped - he slumped to the ground, staring horribly.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

The woods were silent around her. She knew this wasn’t a nightmare, not now. When she reached to close his eyes, they stayed shut. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **UPDATES WEEKLY**


	4. 1x04: Trust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Manual link for the poll: [ http://www.strawpoll.me/15275119](https://www.strawpoll.me/15275119) :')

“What’s the worst thing you saw before the apocalypse?”

Outside, the rain pattered down in heavy streams, drumming rhythmically on the trailer roof. Michael sat on his bed, staring out the window. A flash of lightning lit the room up blue, followed moments later by a growl of thunder.

“Before?” Brown asked.

“Yeah.” He shifted the walkie-talkie to his other hand and leaned back against the wall. “We’ve seen so much since this started. But before… most people hadn’t seen that much shit. Most _normal_ people, anyway.”

“Yeah,” Brown murmured, and paused for so long that Michael could practically hear him thinking. “I… I dunno, dude. I told you, I didn’t do much. Saw a lot of shit on _TV_ ,” he said - Michael scoffed - “Blew up countless people in video games. But in real life?”

“You never saw a dead body?” Michael asked.

“...my grandma,” he replied, eventually. “Cancer. It was slow. By the end she practically looked like a skeleton. When she died, it… it didn’t even look peaceful. It was like something from a fucking horror movie. So I guess that was the worst I’d seen - God, I’d forgotten until now.”

“That sucks,” Michael replied softly. “I’m sorry you had to go through it.”

“I was young.” There was a tight, dismissive note in Brown’s voice. Michael had to press the walkie-talkie close to his ear to hear him over the storm. “The things I’ve seen now… had to get used to them damn quick. If I hadn’t I’d be dead.”

“Takes a certain sort of person.”

“Maybe. A twisted sort.” Brown chuckled, humourlessly. “And you? That job you said went wrong… I’m guessing it wasn’t pretty.”

Michael closed his eyes. Brown’s voice was gentle, and he knew if he changed the subject the other man wouldn’t push it - but somehow, sitting here in the dead of night, rain thundering down, everything _before_ felt like a half-forgotten dream-

_(-his ears were ringing, drowning everything else out, his vision blurred and flooded with bright light. Spots danced before his eyes and a hot liquid was running down the side of his face… when he finally did hear something, it was_ screaming _, inhuman, wrenching cries that he knew he’d never forget-)_

“It wasn’t…” he broke off, choked, but Brown waited patiently. “I… I’d seen things before. Blood, split skin, broken bones. Tased someone once. Saw police shoot a man. You get used to that. But this time was different, I-”

(- _The fire, the smoke, but worse than that, the_ smell _. Burning flesh and a metallic, coppery thickness that he could almost taste. The mess on the road - he’d never seen so much red in his life, and it wasn’t just the blood. The_ pieces _-)_

“I-”

_(His feet unwillingly staggered forward. The soles of his shoes were sticking to the ground as he walked, stooping to peer through the mess of twisted metal and broken glass-)_

“That’s why I started drinking,” he forced out, and heaved in a shaking breath. “First ‘cause I couldn’t sleep without it. Then ‘cause I wanted to forget.” 

His heart pounded just from thinking about it, and the next crash of thunder made him flinch.

“Everything I’ve seen since then,” he managed, “Is _nothing_ in comparison. I think that’s the only reason I survived. Because it didn’t fucking phase me.”

“Shit, dude,” Brown murmured. “I’m sorry.”

“Not your damn fault. You’ve helped more than anyone. I’m just - scared of what’ll happen.” His voice shook - he hadn’t admitted this out loud before, but it was always easier with Brown. “Aaron nearly died earlier this month and I - I dunno what I’ll do if I have to see it happen to one of my group. It was stupid to get close.”

“Warned ya,” Brown replied, and Michael knew he was only half joking. Still; he shook his head and scoffed.

“Oh, shut up.”

“Seriously, I told you so. Groups are a bad idea.”

“You’re the worst,” Michael said. “You were wrong.”

“Don’t think so,” Brown said, with that infuriating _certainty_ he had every time Michael told him how well things were working out. He seemed convinced they were on the precipice of collapse. “I do have some news.”

“Yeah?”

“This town’s getting dangerous - more and more dead coming in from the forest. I’m running low on ammo, so I need to relocate.”

“Where will you go?” Michael asked quietly. Things had been _steady_ , the last few weeks, with both of them in their camps. He knew it couldn’t last forever.

“The highway’s a no-go and the only other way out of here is along the train line. It runs through a big-ass tunnel and last I saw, that was crawling with biters. Still, I’ll come up with something.”

“Be careful,” Michael said, his throat tight.

“Oh, I will be,” Brown replied dismissively. “Don’t worry, Jones, I can take care of myself. It won’t be terminal for me. Anyway, I should sleep - got a lotta scouting to do tomorrow.”

“Me too,” Michael murmured. “G’night.”

He lowered the walkie-talkie and sat, eyes shut, listening to the rain. His mind drifted, trying to remember something that was niggling at him. Something Brown said had sounded familiar, but he couldn’t place it.

Then it hit him.

_The train line_. He scrambled to the other side of the trailer, reaching to flick on the lantern on the desk and look over their map of the area.

_Terminal. That’s a damn weird word to use, unless…_

There. His finger stabbed down on Termini station, the last stop on the local railroad. Sure enough, it ran through a big tunnel through the mountain that this hiking valley was part of. Still a good day or so’s walk away, but...

_Holy shit. He’s so fucking close by._

He’d thought Brown was on the other side of the country - distant and out of reach. To realise he was practically a stone’s throw away made his heart jolt in his chest. He looked at the map again and realised with a shock that Brown was headed in the opposite direction. He’d be _leaving_ the area - heading north, further and further away from Michael.

Involuntarily, he reached for the walkie-talkie-

Only to freeze.

_What do you expect him to do? Ditch his plans to join your group instead? You know how he is. He still doesn’t trust you enough to tell you his damn name._

_But you want him to._ He realised it with a pang, realised he had for a long time now. _You want him here. You want to know he’s safe and has your back, too._ He trusted the others by now, but it wasn’t the same. Brown had been there from the start, his lifeline when he wasn’t sure he’d get through those awful first weeks. The first person who’d seemed to _care_ in a long time.

_Talk to him._

_What’s the harm in asking?_

But just the thought made him so nervous he could barely think straight. 

_If he says no…_

It could ruin everything. Brown might cut him off just like everyone else had. He didn’t think he could handle that rejection again. Slowly, he lowered the walkie-talkie back to his belt, and swallowed hard as he walked to the window and rested his head against the cool glass, watched the raindrops slide away, every flash of lightning like a new explosion.

-

-

-

**1x04: TRUST**

“Car!” Barbara called, and Michael jumped violently behind the wheel.

Yesterday's rain had left a damp chill in the air, and the roads coated with a slippery layer of rotting, fallen leaves. Up ahead, through the fog that'd settled over the area - bright headlights. Michael pulled over, heart pounding. They'd were halfway to another town up the mountainside. There were barely even biters here, let alone other humans, and he certainly hadn't expected to meet anyone.

In the backseat, Aaron’s hand rested on his knife. Beside Michael, Barbara looked worried, but from the way her eyes narrowed, Michael could tell she was thinking of all that shit she'd told him about reaching out to other groups. Fucking expanding their group of survivors like more people wouldn't just mean more trouble. He'd kept his mouth shut, and some small part of him felt a nagging guilt like he knew she was right - but he couldn't help his cynicism.

_Guess we'll find out,_ he thought, and opened the car door.

As it turned out, they were not in fact about to face some sort of existential dilemma of whether to trust strangers. He wasn't sure if it was better or worse to come face to face with Gavin’s stupid face as he and a handful of his group emerged from their van.

"Oh, you again!" Michael groaned.

They hadn't seen the other group in weeks. The rain had made it difficult to travel too far in the forest, and storms had brought trees down that made it even harder. Gavin was flanked as always by Dan and Edgar, Flynt hanging back - his face lit up when he saw Barbara.

"Hi Barb," he said, waving.

"Hi Gavin!" she replied, too brightly for such a miserable day. "Haven't seen you in a while! I'm glad you weren't washed away in all this rain."

"It's been grim in those tents, I'll tell you that," he said, and laughed. He seemed... genuinely happy to see them, which was kind of freaky, and after a second Michael noticed how tired Gavin looked. His face was even thinner than before, his nose standing out like a great big beak, and the hollows of his cheeks made everything look sharp enough to cut glass on.

"I can imagine. Would you say the weather is too _in-tents_ for them?" she asked, and Gavin groaned.

"She's as bad as you said," Dan laughed. "Where're you lot off to?"

"Town up the hill," Michael supplied grudgingly, with what he considered a very macho flick of his chin. “Gladesdale or some shit? Small place but we need food. Hoping it wasn't raided."

"We're going there too," Gavin said, and behind him Flynt scowled. "We're running dangerously low on supplies."

Michael opened his mouth, but Barbara cut in first.

"There should be enough for both of us," she said. “Are you looking for anything in particular?”

“Just food,” Gavin said pleasantly. “We can stay out of each other’s way. Keep to different sides of town.”

“That’s cool with us,” Barbara replied, and Michael bit his lip. It was strange, seeing Gavin again after all this time. The last time they’d spoken had been their bitter argument, but Gavin didn’t seem to have held a grudge. He was mainly focused on Barbara, a little smile on his face. Michael didn’t know what to think. “See you around.”

With a wave and a small smile, they turned and left. 

“Still don’t trust him?” Aaron asked.

“No,” Michael grunted. “No one’s that chill all the time. Even if he doesn’t turn on us, it’s a bad idea to hang around them too much.” He glanced at Barbara, and found her grinning. “Take it you like him.”

“He reminds me of my brothers,” she said, wistfully. “I miss them.”

Michael bit his lip. He hadn’t expected that, somehow, even if he’d noticed just in that five minute conversation how at-ease the two of them seemed around each other. 

“Yeah,” he murmured, and turned away. “Me too.”

It slipped out. He hadn’t meant it to. He hadn’t spoken to his family in years. And he didn’t miss the way both of them turned to him in surprise - it was far more personal than most other things he’d offered up - but they didn’t comment, and they continued on their way.

\---

Gladesdale emerged from the fog like something from a horror movie - the dark shapes of buildings rising in peaks from the white mist. The occasional human silhouette shambled in the distance, but the town was otherwise still and silent, like a frozen, over-exposed photograph.

On the distant horizon, looming above everything else, was a flashing red dot in the sky. After a moment Michael made out what he thought might be a tower around it; it was too far to tell.

“What’s that?” he asked, pointing.

Barbara looked at the map and let out a gasp.

“Fuck. Okay. That’s Gladesdale maximum security prison.”

“ _What_?” Michael and Aaron demanded in unison, and she nodded grimly.

“Yep. It’s some distance out - way off in the fields. I guess they wouldn’t put it too close to where the public is. Still - no wonder the town’s so small. Who’d wanna live right next to it?”

“Wait, that’s not just a jail, that’s the fucking _supermax?”_ Michael demanded. Before it had looked like a red star; now there was something sinister to the blinking light, like a crimson eye hovering over them, seeing all.

“Yeah,” Aaron grunted. “Where the worst of the worst end up. I wonder what happened to them after the outbreak.”

“Maybe they Shawshank Redemptioned their way out,” Barbara mused.

“Or, you know, just escaped normally,” Aaron supplied, “Now that it’s the apocalypse and the guards probably aren’t keeping an eye on the gates.”

Barbara stuck her tongue out at him, and Michael turned his attention away from them. He looked back at the tower - at the dark forms of walls he could see in the distance as the mist cleared a little. His crimes weren’t nearly serious enough to have ended up _here_ , but still - it gave him an uncomfortable feeling. Too many memories of police station cells, of interviews, talks about _time_ and _parole_ and the way he’d never liked how his lawyer stared at him, with cold eyes and a flat smile.

He couldn’t take his eyes off it, each flash seeming to pulse in time with his pounding heart, until Barbara nudged his elbow.

“We going?” she asked, and Michael jolted back to attention.

“Yeah.” He tore his eyes away and focused back on the road. Saw the headlights of Gavin’s van, nearby, turn right. He turned left instead, swallowing. ”Let’s get outta here.”

“Bad day to come out,” Aaron grunted, “It’s so foggy we can’t see shit - no biters or anything.”

“They’re out there,” Michael replied distractedly, “Always are.”

\---

Turned out there was fuck all in the town. From what Michael could tell, someone else had already swept through and taken anything there was to find. Vending machines had been wrenched open, shop windows busted into - even the houses often had their doors swinging loosely open.

Not just that - a good quarter of the place seemed to have burned to the ground, nothing but smoke-stained black shells remaining.

They stared at the destruction for a little while. It looked, Michael thought vaguely, like something out of _Fallout_ \- like human civilisation had been utterly destroyed, nothing but literal ruins remaining.

“Fucking hell,” he said glumly.

“Not really the season for forest fires,” Aaron murmured. “I don’t know how this would have started by accident.”

“Could’ve happened early on. This isn’t fresh.” He kicked at a burned bit of wood and sniffed. “C’mon, there’s shit all here.”

_Anger_ was usually Michael’s go-to emotion when things weren’t going his way, but as they drove aimlessly down the pale streets, he just felt sort of flat and empty.

_We have no food. It’s getting colder and colder. We’re fucked unless I come up with something_. _Unless there’s a miracle around the corner._ It didn’t feel real yet; something off about this whole place, like since they’d driven around the edge of the mountain and that red light had emerged from the mist, they’d stepped through a looking glass and into a world just off-centre from reality. It was the weather, he thought. He’d never liked fog.

“Michael!” Barbara called out suddenly - an odd note in her voice. He turned to find her pointing out the window. The car came to a skidding halt.

“What is that?” he asked, squinting. Weak sunlight glinted off a building that was nearly hidden around the corner. It took him a moment to realise the surface was _glass_ \- sparkling with wet drops from the rain, giving it a shimmering, elusive quality like a mirage.

“It’s a greenhouse,” Barbara said excitedly. “Looks intact!”

Michael stared. For a second he couldn’t move; his chest felt tight and his stomach was buzzing. He wasn’t sure if it was nerves or excitement.

_Too good to be true_. That was the problem. Surely it couldn’t be real - he’d wished for a miracle and here it was.

“What are you waiting for?” Barbara slapped at his leg, pure glee in her voice - and Michael kicked himself.

_Don’t be an idiot._ He’d never been superstitious and he certainly wasn’t stupid enough to throw away something they desperately needed just because it _felt_ wrong. He swung the car around and headed left down the street.

The fire hadn’t reached this area of the town. In the midst of the dark streets, the greenhouse stood out like a diamond buried in the mud, glimmering in the dim light. Michael could see inside that it was lush with splendid greenery; colourful flowers and bright fruits. 

“Holy shit,” he breathed, but Aaron was already poking his shoulder from the backseat.

“That’s Gavin’s van,” he said, and Michael looked over. His heart sank as he realised that, indeed, the others’ vehicles were already parked outside. But after a moment, he shook his head.

“This is right in the middle of town. If he’s serious about sharing then we should get half. Come on,” he said, and leaped out of the car.

Stepping into the greenhouse was a relief; from the cold outside to its warm, slightly humid interior. The air smelt like rich soil and the faint sweetness of flowers. After everything else they’d seen, it felt like walking into paradise.

Barbara reached out, hand brushing against rows of tomatoes.

“What a ripe opportunity,” she declared, then squealed when Aaron reached out and messed up her hair.

“Hey,” a voice snapped, and Michael turned to see Flynt shoving his way out from between the rows of plants. He did not look happy. “What the fuck’re you doing in here?”

“It’s halfway through town,” Michael replied, folding his arms. “So half of it’s ours.”

“We got here _first_.” Flynt marched towards him, shoulders hunched like a bull ready to charge - but Gavin jogged towards them from deeper in the greenery, hands out placatingly.

“Hey, hey, Flynt - calm down! Our agreement was that we each got half the town and Michael’s right, this spot’s in the middle. There’s more than enough for both of us.”

Michael shot Flynt a very smug look, and watched the man’s face turn red. He whirled on Gavin and grabbed his arm, yanking him close - a rough movement that made Michael stiffen.

“We _need_ this food,” he heard Flynt hiss. “You think people are gonna be _happy_ you gave half away?”

“I think people will be happy we didn’t end up in a shoot-up in the middle of a glass building,” Gavin snapped, and ripped his arm free. “Get back to work.” 

For a moment Michael thought Flynt wasn’t going to listen. His shoulders were heaving so violently that Michael could see it from here. Then he whirled around and marched off, muttering under his breath. Gavin stared after him for a moment. When he turned back to Michael, his smile was strained.

“Anything you can pick, you can keep - so you’d better work fast,” he said.

Michael nodded, and turned to Barbara and Aaron, motioning them to move off to different areas of the greenhouse. They hurried away and he walked over to where Gavin was picking tomatoes with a lost look in his eyes.

“Pretty sure the green ones aren’t ripe yet,” Michael pointed out, and Gavin jumped a little, turning to him. Michael frowned. “You look like shit, by the way.”

“Thanks,” Gavin muttered, and rubbed at his face. “Hard to sleep. And Flynt’s right about one thing, our food situation is… a bit grim at the moment.”

“Right,” Michael grunted. “You look like a strong breeze will get you before a biter does.”

“Probably a better way to go,” Gavin replied, with a strained smile. There was an awkward silence in which Michael picked a lot of ripe tomatoes while being very self-conscious that Gavin was standing there watching him essentially take all the food. 

He’d been thinking a lot about the other group over the last few weeks - mostly because what Barbara had said wouldn’t stop going around and around in his head. And every time he tried to stage an argument with Gavin in his head, tried to imagine a situation where he’d convince the other man how fucking _wrong_ he was about everything - she’d pop up and take his side and then _he’d_ look like the asshole. So he couldn’t win, even in his own fucking daydreams, which he personally thought was very unfair.

“You gave us medicine for Aaron,” he barked out finally. “Why?”

Gavin looked surprised. Then his face softened.

“The last thing I want is _fewer_ living humans around here,” he pointed out, in that tone of voice that Michael _hated_. Like fucking Jesus preaching on the mountain. “That would just mean we’re one step closer to the dead taking over. I’d hope your group would do the same for us if we were in need.”

“I wouldn’t,” Michael grunted. “Barb probably would.”

“She’s a good person,” Gavin said. “I think you are too.”

“Shut the fuck up. You don’t know me.” He ripped a handful of flowers off the tomato plant.

“Those are toxic, you know,” Gavin said pleasantly. “Watched someone get kicked off MasterChef for decorating a dish with them. Nearly poisoned the bloody judges!”

“I knew that,” Michael lied, brushing them to the ground. Gavin reached out and started picking tomatoes too, which meant Michael proceeded to pick _faster_ , since, you know. Had to get as many as possible. Like a fucking Mario Party mini game. “It’s getting colder.”

“I know,” Gavin replied sadly, “I don’t think we can stay in the forest much longer. It’s too dangerous in winter - and there isn’t enough to eat. I just haven’t figured out where to go yet.”

“Yeah,” Michael grunted. “Might be time for a road trip.”

“Problem with that is you’ll need a lot of fuel,” Gavin said. “And if your bus breaks down, you’re in trouble. Unless one of you is a mechanic. Used to know a lot of them - that’s definitely the one person I’d want around in this sort of situation.”

“What _did_ you do before all this?” Michael asked, and Gavin laughed.

“I was the sacred keeper of the KFC secret recipe,” he said, and Michael shoved at him.

“Fuck off.”

“I designed roller-coasters. That’s why I knew so many mechanics.”

“You’re lying. What is it? I bet it was something stupidly fucking boring, like… a postman, or something.”

“Excuse you, postmen are a staple of the economic system. Who do you think delivers all those things you order online?” Gavin asked, and Michael rolled his eyes. For a second, he couldn’t help his lips twitching. For a second - it almost felt like him and Brown, giving each other shit over the walkies.

Then he heard a scream from behind them, and whirled around, hand on his knife. Gavin made a similar motion.

On the other side of the greenhouse, one of Gavin’s people - a blonde woman - was backing away from the glass wall. Michael jogged towards her, straining to see over the tomato plants - only to let out a horrified gasp.

There were biters coming towards the greenhouse - a _lot_ of them, as many as there had been back in the city.

_A horde,_ he realised - masses of dead bodies packed together, more than he could ever count - but he barely had time to register the situation when suddenly they were at the glass, beating on it with their fists. There were so many that the wall was already cracking under their weight.

“Michael!” Barbara yelled, and he spun around. She was on the other side of the greenhouse, separated from them by a row of stakes. He gestured furiously at the door nearest to her.

“Get out!” he yelled, “We’ll meet up later!”

She nodded, and ran off. He saw Aaron heading towards her - in a better position to get to her than he was - and felt a flash of relief. That lasted about two seconds, then the sound of breaking glass rang out, and the next thing he knew the warm air was filled with the stagnant scent of rotting flesh, and the glasshouse echoed with moans and snarls.

“Shit!” Gavin hissed - his people were scattered, most of them running for the doors, and Michael could see him straining to look for someone. “Dan!”

Dan was a few metres away from them, in a separate aisle of the greenhouse and separated by several huge pots. Flynt was by his side and as Michael watched the horde fell upon both of them. Flynt raised his gun and fired - six shots that each took down own of the creatures - but one of them grabbed Dan’s shoulder, pulling him towards the fray.

For a moment he struggled, decaying hands grasping at him and snagging in his hair, his shirt, the hood of his jacket. Michael saw teeth snap close to his ear and watched his fist catch one of them across the face, making it stumble, but the others were closing in fast.

“ _Dan!_ ” Gavin yelled again, surging forward - Michael caught his arm automatically, yanking him back without even thinking about it- 

Dan twisted around and managed to stab the creature in the head, staggering free. Flynt fired again, taking down another of the biters closest to him, and then grabbed Dan’s arm, pulling him towards the nearest exit.

“We have to go!” Michael shouted. He tugged Gavin towards the closest exit to them. “Come on, we can’t get to them!”

Gavin seemed to snap back to himself. He nodded and they rushed for the door. After a second Michael realised he was still holding the other man’s wrist, and quickly let go of him, pulling out his knife instead.

\---

They burst from the greenhouse into the main road, but Michael quickly realised the horde had surrounded the whole place. There was no sign of anyone else, and they couldn’t get to the cars. He latched onto the nearest clear street and ran for it, vaguely aware of Gavin following a step behind him.

They ran into a shopping district, but the doors and windows of the buildings were all boarded up, and the car park offered few places to hide. More biters were spilling from out in the road and Michael bit his lip. He had no idea where they came from, but it wasn’t looking good - they were surrounded on all sides and there were just too many.

“There!” Gavin called, and pointed to an alleyway. Michael followed him towards it, but quickly realised it was a dead end. He spun around and noticed a ladder attached to the side of one building.

“Up there!” he cried, and grabbed it - only to leap back as the second he put his weight on the rungs, it broke halfway down where the metal had rusted away. It fell to the ground with a deafening _clang_ and he heard the surge of hisses and groans from the biters outside.

“Fuck,” he hissed - that would’ve drawn attention. Three biters were already lumbering into the alley, and he could see more staggering towards them from the car park. “Get up there, quickly! We’re surrounded!”

“It’s broken!” Gavin replied, helplessly.

“I’ll boost you up, just fucking hurry!”

Michael bent down, taking Gavin’s boot in his hand and heaving him up until he could reach the ladder’s rungs. He wasn’t that heavy, but every second felt like an hour with the biters closing in. He saw Gavin grab the rungs and start hauling himself up - Michael shoved at his waist before grabbing his legs and hoisting him up even further. 

A snarl rang out behind him, and he let go of Gavin and spun around. A biter was descending on him and he instinctively lashed out at it. He barely got the knife into its neck - its hands scrabbled at him, scratching at the front of his jacket - he wrenched the knife up through its throat, cutting through its lower jaw and yanking it out of its mouth. It doubled over and he stabbed it again in the eye, sticky blood spattering over him as it crumpled. More were already closing in in its place.

“Michael, quickly!”

Gavin was clinging to the ladder and holding a hand down to him. He shoved his knife into his belt, then jumped and grabbed Gavin’s hand, swinging himself up to the bottom rung. It groaned ominously, but he clung to it, legs kicking in the air. Gavin hurried to pull himself up higher and Michael started to follow-

Something grabbed at his foot, tugging him down a few rungs. He felt his leg scrape against broken metal and blood rush over his skin, but he was too focused on kicking to care. Hands were clawing at his ankles and he felt a nose break under his heel as he lashed out. Another tug, and his sweaty hands nearly slipped off the ladder.

“Michael!”

He looked up and found Gavin with one elbow hooked tightly around the ladder, the other pointing the gun down at him. Fear flashed through him - then he realised what the other man was doing. Heart racing, he pressed himself flat against the ladder and heard three shots ring out overhead, loud enough to make his ears ring. Then the hands fell away from him, and he was free - he climbed as fast as he could.

With a groan, they hauled themselves up onto the rooftop. Michael crawled frantically away from the edge and then flopped onto his back, gasping.

_Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy_ shit.

The adrenaline raced through his blood - but a moment later, the pain came rushing in. He sat up and cradled his leg, gingerly peeling his torn pants aside to inspect the wound. It was a deep gash, and bleeding heavily. Not life threatening, but he remembered what’d happened to Aaron and felt faintly queasy.

“Are you okay?” Gavin scrambled to his side. He looked shaken up too, his face pale as he peered to inspect the wound. “Did they bite you?”

“No - I just scratched my leg on the ladder.” 

Michael couldn’t help his flinch when Gavin reached out and touched him - but he just brushed Michael’s hands gently aside, examining the wound before rummaging in his bag. He pulled out a little first aid kit and tore open an alcohol wipe.

“Let me clean it,” he said softly. Michael opened his mouth to refuse on principle, realised how fucking _stupid_ that was, and promptly shut it again, biting back a hiss as Gavin dabbed at the wound. Their eyes met again and Gavin looked away with a small frown. “You helped me back there.”

“We were both up shit creek,” Michael grunted, embarrassed. “Didn’t have much choice.”

“Thank you.”

“You could’ve left me, too,” Michael snapped. “Would’ve been the smarter choice.”

“You really think I would have?” Gavin scoffed. He pulled out a needle and thread and Michael stiffened, leaning back on his elbows and staring up at the sky. It was late afternoon by now, and the sun was a bloody streak of light behind the masses of dark clouds. He felt Gavin begin to sew with neat, efficient movements. When he glanced down, it wasn’t quite as horrifying a mess as he’d anticipated.

“You know what you’re doing.” 

“Yeah,” Gavin said, eyes glinting with something almost like amusement.

“Suppose next you’ll be telling me you were a tailor.”

“Yes,” Gavin cried. “For a company called _Kingsmen_.”

He grinned ridiculously widely and Michael had to roll his eyes. He gritted his teeth as Gavin finished up - it wasn’t too bad; he could take a good deal of pain and if need be he would’ve sewed himself up - still, Gavin was being as gentle as possible, and he had to grudgingly appreciate it.

Down below they could hear the shuffle of undead feet, and as the adrenaline started to fade he realised just how fucked they were.

“There’s a lot of them,” Gavin murmured, snapping off the thread.

“It’s a horde,” Michael replied. “Geoff warned us this would happen - said the storms drive them down the mountain towards the city.”

“Who’s Geoff?” Gavin asked.

A pang shot through Michael’s chest. He looked away, ignoring the question, and Gavin didn’t push it. He packed away his first aid kit and there was an awkward pause as they both looked over the edge of the building.

The greenhouse was swarmed and the streets were packed with biters. There was no sign of anyone else and from here Michael knew instantly there were only a few places to go - along the rooftops, or down through the roof, or possibly east back into the forest - but no damn way were they getting anywhere near the direction everyone else had gone in.

It took a second for it to hit.

_Fuck. It’s just me and him. Literally just the two of us_. He glanced over at Gavin and found him staring back with wide eyes. After a second, Gavin coughed awkwardly.

“So,” he said. “You and me, huh?”

“Looks like it,” Michael replied, through gritted teeth.

_Damn it._ They might have saved each other’s life back there, but holy _shit_ was Gavin the last person he wanted to be trapped with. God knew what sort of weird rules he’d have that he’d insist on Michael following. 

Then again, their biggest problem right now was the dead, and as far as he knew Gavin had no problem killing them. _Yet_.

“What’s your plan?” he asked, and Gavin rocked on his heels, hugging his arms around his body.

“I’m gonna stay here a bit until it dies down out there,” he said finally. “And then make my way back down the mountain. My group’s discussed what to do in situations like this. Our contingency plan for getting split up is just to get back to base.”

“Right,” Michael said, and nodded. “Me too, I guess - I can let the others know I’m okay.” He tapped the walkie-talkie on his belt. “I don’t want them coming after me when I can get out myself.”

“I think I’ll head back through the forest,” Gavin offered. “Too easy to get overrun in the streets. Worst case scenario, at least I could climb a tree, y’know?”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Michael admitted, and swallowed.

Another awkward pause.

“Guess we’re headed in the same direction!” Gavin said sheepishly.

“Looks like it,” Michael replied, stiffly.

“Safety in numbers,” Gavin said. Then, tentatively, “I personally think we’re better off sticking together.”

“I personally agree.”

“Then that’s sorted,” Gavin said, and Michael raised a hand.

“But I’m doing shit my way,” he said.

“And I’m doing it mine,” Gavin replied, lifting his chin, a flash of that familiar self-righteous annoyance in his eyes.

“Your funeral,” Michael replied, and turned away. He limped to the roof hatch and yanked it open. A dark stairwell spiralled into the shop below.

He couldn’t lie, he was fucking worried about how this would go.

But they didn’t have much choice, and as he felt the other man come up by his side, he swallowed and stepped down into the dark.

\---

The scratch of pencil against paper was slowly driving Ryan mad, but the silence outside was worse. He scribbled until the tip of the graphite snapped off; with a jerking moment, he shoved his notebook aside and clutched at his hair, squeezing his eyes shut.

On the page, designs for gory new biter traps labelled with scrap parts jumped out at him. They were good ideas - but he couldn’t focus. Couldn’t stop thinking about the gate, kept playing back the screams. He reached out and picked up the mug next to him, but the instant coffee was long gone, only sour, cold dregs remaining.

“Fuck,” he whispered, and rested his head on the table.

A knock at the door made him flinch. He waited - but after another tentative rap of knuckles he moved tiredly to open it. 

Chris was leaning awkwardly against the wall. He almost looked _surprised_ to see Ryan, like he hadn’t knocked on the fucking door in the first place. Ryan stared at him, dead-eyed. 

“Hi,” Chris said, after a long pause. 

“Hi,” Ryan replied slowly. “What’s going on? Are we under attack?”

“No?” Chris asked, and looked frantically around for a moment. “No… no. No, we aren’t.”

“Then what the fuck do you want?” Ryan snapped.

Chris bit his lip nervously. Honestly, Ryan didn’t even feel bad for being curt; he had a headache from lack of sleep and the other man’s dithering tried his patience at the best of times. He was expecting to be called to help haul dead biters away, or pestered about their supplies, or any manner of other chores.

But Chris just rubbed the back of his neck and mumbled, “I was wondering if you’d teach me how to make bombs.”

“What?”

“Bombs. And the other traps. I was just wondering if… maybe you could teach me how to do all that too. It might be useful - you know, having two people who know. And we could work twice as fast.”

Ryan stared at him. 

His first instinct was that he was being _mocked_. That Chris just wanted to laugh at what he did, that he was the subject of some practical joke. God knew it’d happened often enough at school. But he shook that thought off - there was something earnest in Chris’ eyes, and he didn’t seem like the sort.

His second thought was that Chris wanted to learn so he could _replace_ him - so they could kick out the most defenceless member of the team and still reap the benefits of the things he’d been making.

Once that was in his head, it was hard to get out.

“No,” he said suspiciously.

“Oh.” Chris seemed a bit lost, like he hadn’t anticipated being turned down. “Why not?”

“You’ll just slow me down. I work alone.”

He started to slam the trailer door, but Chris surged forward.

“Wait! Could I at least just watch? Please, I…” He trailed off, something too vulnerable about his face. Ryan hesitated. His heart was pounding and he wanted to kick Chris’ foot out of the way and slam the door shut, but something stopped him. The way Chris kept swallowing, like the words were trying to rise up out of his mouth but couldn’t - it reminded Ryan of his own first pathetic attempts at _making friends_ \- at school, at university, at the lab - before he realised it was more pain than it was worth. He opened the door a little wider, and Chris looked up hopefully.

“I’m not good at killing biters,” he admitted. “Michael’s trying to teach me, but… I know I’ll never be as good as Aaron or Barbara. Why do you think he took them out today and not me? I don’t want to be a burden on the group and I… I just thought maybe I could help out like you do...”

Ryan stared. Chris’ cheeks were red and he had to admit, he’d had no idea the other man felt like he was useless. If anything he’d assumed he played an invaluable role being left to guard the camp whenever Michael took the others off somewhere.

_This is a bad idea_. But he nodded anyway, and grudgingly ushered him in.

“You can _watch_ ,” he said, and Chris nearly tripped over his own feet scrambling inside. Ryan sat down again, pulling his notebook towards him and flicking to the page with the recipe for bombs on it. Chris perched on a stool next to him and watched with wide eyes.

“You’ve been writing everything down?” he demanded.

“Of course,” Ryan said stiffly. Suspicion rose up again - _he might steal your notebook, take the formula for himself, and then you’ll be expendable -_ but Chris just nodded excitedly and yanked a battered book from his own pocket. It looked like it’d been through hell, with tattered corners and a big water stain on the side, but even from here Ryan could see how almost half the pages had been scribbled in.

“I have too,” he said, and then looked embarrassed. “Not like you have, of course, not… not all science and shit, but just - writing down things that’ve happened.”

“A journal,” Ryan said flatly.

“I guess so. I just - don’t want people to forget, you know? Years and years from now when everything’s fixed.”

“You’re entirely too optimistic about the future of the human race,”’ Ryan drawled.

“Maybe,” Chris replied, “But it just felt important. To keep a record of our group. Of… of Geoff.” For a moment he looked upset. “And Michael, and what’s happened to us. To me. Maybe it’s stupid, but - it helps, sometimes. It probably sounds stupid,” he added, “Especially to you. You’re a scientist. But I used to be a writer before all this. I guess it’s just comforting to have something familiar.”

“That makes sense,” Ryan replied. He felt a bit stunned; he hadn’t known that was what Chris did. He’d never bothered to ask. “It’s only natural that you want some semblance of normalcy in the midst of all this shit.”

“Exactly,” Chris said, and tucked his book away. “I guess you’re lucky, in a way. Your skills are useful in this new world.”

“In some ways,” Ryan muttered.

“They are, though! I remember how excited Geoff and Gus were when they found out what you could make. Not everyone knows as much as you do. A lot of the people who did study that stuff probably died way back during the fever. You’re smart,” Chris said, so matter of factly that Ryan couldn’t help but stare. “You must’ve been pretty important before all this.”

“My research was important,” Ryan said stiffly, “But not any more. I am useful in some ways, but… lacking in others. The skills that are valued nowadays are rather different to what was appreciated before.”

It took a lot to admit, but he saw Chris’ eyes widen in understanding.

“You know,” he replied quietly, inching a little closer - Ryan stayed where he was, even if Chris’ gaze boring into the side of his face was making him self-conscious, “Aaron’s been my best friend for years. Since high school, he’s always been the one who was athletic, and popular, and _handsome_. I used to wonder why he even keeps me around.”

“To make himself look better?” Ryan couldn’t help suggesting, a bit meanly - but Chris just laughed.

“Hey, I’ve considered the possibility, I’d be lying if I didn’t. I’ve always been the sidekick. I just want to be able to help the group. To try and pay back everything the others have done for me.”

Ryan looked down, his hand stilling where he’d been laying out ingredients. Chris sounded so earnest that for a moment he felt deeply ashamed.

_All that matters is_ your _safety. If that’s not your priority, you’ll never survive_. But Geoff had pulled him out of the street. Michael had gotten them out of the city. Even Barbara worked to protect the group. He felt like the world’s biggest piece of shit, especially with Chris seeming convinced that _he_ was the more helpful of the two of them.

“You’ll be fine,” he managed. “You’re a better fighter than me. You try hard. You’re not scared - the rest will come in time.”

“But I am scared,” Chris said, and Ryan turned to look at him. He was biting his lip, staring away a little. “I… I’m scared shitless _all_ the time. I’m just - trying my best, I suppose, and hoping that’s enough. You know, Aaron’s always been a good guy. His parents raised him right and now, in this world… well, he’s like a hero, isn’t he?”

“Hero,” Ryan scoffed a little.

“It’s true. Michael, too. I look at him and I… I wish I was that fearless. He’s like something out of a movie. I’ve always liked stories.”

“Clearly.”

“No, I mean it. _The Lord of the Rings,_ that’s my favourite. I know it sounds stupid, like something from a fairytale, but… when the world seems overwhelmed with darkness and evil, all it takes is everyone else pulling together to set things right again. And you don’t have to be big or strong to be brave. To save the world. You just have to be loyal and try your best. One of my favourite sayings comes from there. _Even the smallest person can change the course of the future_ …”

He trailed off, looking embarrassed. Ryan turned away, fingers clenching on the edge of the workbench.

_He’s an idiot. He’s an idiot living in a fantasy world and you’re all going to end up dead. He probably thinks this is all very romantic- that you’re the brains of the group, the scientist._

_He doesn’t know that you’re the worst kind of coward._

But still - something about Chris’ voice touched him, he couldn’t help it. He swallowed and looked up.

“Michael is scared too,” he said. “He doesn’t show it, but he is. He’d be an idiot not to be. But perhaps you’re right. One day the dead will all rot away and that’s when people will show their true colours. Other humans - they’re the real horror, here.”

_Like you. Leaving those people to die._

Chris was quiet for a moment, taking this in.

“They always were anyway,” he murmured finally, but then looked up at Ryan with a smile. “But what you’re doing here… it’s important. I can’t be like Michael, no matter how much he tries to teach me. But I could be like you. Help me - please?”

Ryan swallowed hard.

_Push him away. Say no. It’s what you’ve always done._ But everything was different now and he’d already made more mistakes than he could count. After a moment’s hesitation, he found himself sliding his notebook across the table.

“Start by reading that,” he said curtly. “ _Carefully_. Commit it to memory. Then if you can recite it exactly, I’ll teach you how to mix it.”

Chris’ face lit up and Ryan felt a flush of warmth in his chest. He didn’t think he’d really made anyone _smile_ before. He furiously shoved those silly feelings away and turned back to his work.

\---

It was actually alright, having someone else working beside him. Chris was quiet and kept his questions relevant and it was - almost _nice_ , not being alone. For once, as Ryan taught him what to do, he felt like he was the one in control.

The knock at the door startled them both, and Ryan glanced at his watch and was surprised to realise over two hours had passed. He glanced at Chris and they went to the door together.

“Hey,” Barbara said when they opened it. Her face was pinched and behind her, he could see Aaron unloading boxes from their car.

“Where’s Michael?” Ryan demanded instantly, and for a second the worried look on Barbara’s face sent fear spearing through his chest, too. If something had happened - if he was _gone_ \- the entire group would fall apart. Until that instant, he didn’t think he’d realised just how much they _needed_ the other man. 

“He’s fine,” she said quickly.

“Fine but not here.”

“We got separated by a horde. Gavin’s group was there, too. Michael’s contacted us,” she tapped the walkie-talkie at her belt, “And says he’s with Gavin and they’re gonna make their way back here together. Aaron and I already swung to let the other group know.”

“Just the two of them,” Ryan said flatly, “Against a horde.”

“I’m sure he knows what he’s doing,” Barbara replied, uncertainly. “He survived on his own for a long time. If he stops checking in, we’ll go looking.”

A glum silence fell. After a moment, Barbara glanced between the two of them and gave a small smile.

“Seems like you’ve been busy. Come on, Aaron and I are starving. We have some fresh vegetables, and a rabbit we found in one of your traps, Ryan. Let’s cook.”

Chris nodded eagerly and stepped outside. Ryan hesitated - he had his own stash of canned food and usually took meals alone in his room - but Barbara looked over her shoulder and beckoned him. Chris, hovering a little beyond her, smiled hopefully.

“Aren’t you coming, Ryan?” he asked.

Ryan bit his lip - but after a moment of complete internal conflict he found himself setting aside his things and following them outside. Chris’ grin widened and Barbara smiled too, and even he managed to smooth away his frown for once.

\---

When he set out this morning, the last place Gavin expected to end up was down in the dark, smelly remains of a convenience store, biters banging on the walls outside, with Michael bloody Jones, eating a raw tomato by candlelight.

The hatch led into a dingy apartment above a corner shop. There was fuck all down there; the windows and doors were boarded up but the store itself was very empty, nothing but fridges full of expired milk, the shelves stocked high with newspapers and cigarettes but little else of value.

They sat in the apartment now, in a ramshackle, dusty bedroom. Michael had lit three candles and started a fire in a bin using the old newspapers. Outside Gavin could hear the horde - a constant, nightmarish shuffle of footsteps and ringing voices in the night.

Michael sat by the fire, his leg stretched out. He was turning the walkie-talkie over and over in his hands.

“Are you okay?” Gavin asked after a moment. They’d been sitting in silence since the sun set, only really interacting to scrounge up a meagre dinner from the shop below - stale candy bars, gatorade. “Is your leg sore?”

“It’s not hot,” Michael mused, glancing up at him. He looked different in the flickering light of the fire; softer somehow, his hair framing his face in gentle russet curls. “Hot means infected, yeah?”

“I think so,” Gavin replied, and slid off the bed to sit on the floor too. “Are you waiting for a call?”

“Sorta.” Michael pulled his knees up, shifting restlessly. For a moment Gavin thought he wasn’t going to continue - he’d been sullen most of the evening - but after fidgeting for a bit he turned to look at him. “My… friend. Brown. We talk over this thing most nights. Got me through some bad times.”

“That’s nice,” Gavin said softly.

“He doesn’t trust me. He’s the one who had some hellish experiences with groups. Won’t tell me his first name or where he is. Except the other day I realised he’s really close by, he just doesn’t realise. But he’s planning on moving soon.”

“You want to ask him to stay,” Gavin realised, and Michael nodded, something vulnerable crossing his face - like a child trying to work up the nerve to ask to join a game on the school playground. “You should.”

“You don’t get it. He _hates_ the idea of working with anyone. The shit he told me about his old crew would scare anyone off.”

“But surely he knows you by now,” Gavin argued. “He knows _you’re_ not like that.”

“No matter what I say, I don’t think I can convince him this will go well,” Michael murmured.

“But you want him here,” Gavin pointed out. “What’s the harm in asking? It might change his mind to know you’re so close by.”

Michael grunted, staring at the walkie-talkie again.

“Doesn’t matter what I want,” he muttered. “No matter how good things seem, when there’s people around there’s conflict. He doesn’t want anything to do with that.”

“But he likes you,” Gavin pointed out. “You’re friends, aren’t you?”

Michael looked away, and Gavin sighed and rubbed his arm. He was worried about the others in his group - seeing Dan get grabbed had been a cold shock and he’d felt shaky and nervous since then. Not only that, but he was sure with him stuck here Flynt was taking it upon himself to take command. He could only hope Dan stopped him.

Michael glanced at him and raised an eyebrow.

“Thinking hard?”

“Worried about Flynt,” Gavin admitted.

“Yeah?” Michael’s other eyebrow chased after the first. “Trouble in paradise?”

“I’m scared of what he’ll do,” Gavin said. He glanced at Michael, worried he’d see a scowl or a sneer, but Michael looked… gentle, almost. Genuinely concerned. He relaxed a little. “He wants to be in charge. To do things differently. I’m worried he’s gonna stir up trouble with the others in my group. He blames me for not raiding your group or anyone else’s to get more supplies for ourselves. I’ve been doing everything I can to keep things calm - I’ve barely eaten all week just to make sure everyone else has enough.”

“Fuck, dude.”

“It’ll be okay. I’ll smooth things out somehow. Dan’s got my back and he - he’s _fine_ , so. That’s what matters.” 

His calm tone wavered just for a second, but Michael didn’t comment. Just shifted around the fire a little so he was resting against the bed next to Gavin, staring at him with open curiosity.

“So you guys banging or what?” he demanded.

“What?” Gavin squeaked. “ _Dan_? No! He’s like my brother!”

“Oh. Whoops.”

“Bloody hell, dude. Where’d you dig that idea up?” 

“Dunno. You guys are just whispering together all the time. Guess I misjudged.” He looked a bit flustered and Gavin took pity.

“We’ve been friends since we were kids. But you’re not entirely wrong. It was me and Edgar,” he admitted, and bit his lip - but Michael just watched him, patiently, the only thing in his eyes pure curiosity. “That didn’t last long. It was a bad idea.”

“Hey, he’s got that sexy accent.”

“That’s an American thing,” Gavin said flatly, “To us he just sounds posh.”

“Really? I wouldn’t know,” Michael said, and laughed - head thrown back, shoulders relaxing from once. Gavin couldn’t help but stare. It was a nice look on him, and after a moment he let out a few giggles himself.

“What about you?” he asked. “Do you… have anyone?”

“In my group? God no!” Michael said, and laughed so hard that Gavin thought he might choke. “Who’s got time for that?”

“And before?” Gavin asked quietly, and Michael’s smile faded. He looked ready to close off again, and Gavin felt a flash of regret. He added, quickly, “I didn’t. My job involved travelling around a lot… it’s hard to get into something steady when you’re always on the go.”

“Let me guess, you were in the circus,” Michael drawled, and Gavin laughed and let his head drop back against the bed.

“I wish!”

“I wasn’t with anyone,” Michael admitted after a moment. “Not for a while, at least. My ex and I… didn’t part on the best of terms. He wanted fuck all to do with me by the end. Wouldn’t even pick up when I called him during the outbreak. Probably blocked my number.”

_He_ , Gavin thought, with a stupid thrill that he pushed away almost instantly. _Not the time. What’s it matter, anyway?_

“That sucks,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It was my fault. He never did anything wrong.” A wry smile. “Not a good person, remember?”

“Doesn’t matter now.” Gavin pulled his knees up and rested his chin on them. For a moment they both stared into the crackling fire. “Your friend Brown must be lonely.”

“I think he’s a pretty solitary person, actually.”

“But he’s all on his own, in _this_. Hell, _I_ get lonely sometimes. It’s hard being the leader.” He looked down, picking at the frayed edges of his scarf. “That’s one of the reasons I was so happy to meet Barbara. She understood where I was coming from. ‘cause I get it, Michael, I do. Sometimes it’d be easier just to be mean and say fuck everyone else. Sometimes I _want_ to do that. I wanna just hit Flynt right in his smug face, or tell you guys that we found the greenhouse first, or leave my whole group behind and just _run_ somewhere I don’t have to responsible for everyone else.” He saw Michael’s shocked eyes and laughed. “Sounds bizarre coming from me, doesn’t it? It’d be so _simple_ just to say _fuck it_. But I refuse to. When I was younger… people treated me like shit. Like I was less than them, like I didn’t matter. I’m not going to do the same thing to anyone else. I refuse to let myself stoop to that level. Even now.”

He trailed off, exhausted. Michael didn’t answer, but Gavin could see him staring from the corner of his eye. After a long moment, he sighed and rubbed his hands over his face.

“I’m getting tired,” he said sheepishly. “I’m gonna sleep. Don’t worry if you want to rest, too. I won’t do anything nefarious.”

“How do you know _I’m_ not gonna stab _you_ and take your stuff and run?” Michael muttered, and Gavin could only laugh.

“You wouldn’t,” he said confidently - Michael pulled a horrible face, but Gavin didn’t feel scared. He clambered onto the bed and curled up, pulling his jumper tighter around him.

There was a draft coming in through the ceiling vents and the little campfire did nothing against the winter chill. The bed was stripped of blankets, and he suspected they’d gone the way of most bedsheets after the outbreak, used to wrap the bodies that lined the streets. He huddled on the bare mattress and tried to relax.

“You cold?” Michael demanded gruffly, making him jump.

“Huh?” He turned and found the other man staring at him with narrowed eyes. “A bit?”

Michael stared at him for a long moment then roughly shrugged off his jacket and tossed it onto the bed.

“Too hot by the fire anyway,” he grumbled.

Gavin stared at him. 

_He hates you. He’s made no secret of that. He says he’s not a good person. So why?_

Still - he wasn’t going to question it. Tentatively, he dragged the parka up over himself. It was more than big enough to use as a makeshift blanket and much warmer than his jumper. He peered at Michael with a smile, but he’d already turned away, shoulders hunched defensively. 

_You weren’t wrong. He has a good heart, he just doesn’t want to admit it._

\---

Michael dreamed of a man walking along train tracks, heading for a tunnel he knew would take him far away. 

Gavin was already awake when he got up. He seemed to have managed to set a tomato on fire and was frantically blowing it out.

“It’s quieter out there,” he said, turning to Michael with bright eyes. “They’ve moved down the street a little. I think we should be able to make a run for it.”

Michael nodded. He put on his parka, which was draped neatly on the back of a nearby chair, and found himself suddenly unable to look Gavin in the eye.

_What are you doing, idiot? Remember how fucking_ terrible _of an idea it is to get close to this guy, to his shambles of a group? Who the fuck cares if he’s cold?_

Barbara was rubbing off on him. He didn’t like this one bit. Next thing he’d be finagled by his stupid conscience into giving Gavin _food_ or something like that. He watched as the other man bit into a very burned tomato and pulled a horrible face.

_Jesus Christ_. Michael shook his head and got up, grabbing his backpack.

“Come on,” he said. “Don’t wanna hang around here any longer than necessary. Let’s get the fuck back to our groups.”

\---

Although the biters had dispersed a bit, there were still far too many to fight, and once they practically parkoured their way out of the shopping district, clambering over a wall and across the roofs of several storage sheds before they managed to get out of the city.

Their only close call came when they finally reached the road leading out of town, where three biters blocked their path and they had no choice but to fight.

Michael took one down easily, charging it and getting a knife through its skull from behind. When he turned, Gavin was confronting the other two - he grabbed the larger biter, twisting and letting its own weight bring it to the ground as it lunged at him. It fell and he stamped on its head with one boot, crushing its skull, before flipping the other to the ground and stabbing it through the head.

Michael stared at him, and Gavin looked up and grimaced.

“I think I pulled something,” he said, rubbing his shoulder. 

“Martial arts, huh?”

“I’m literally so rusty.” He rotated his arm and groaned. “Oh my God, I think I wrenched my shoulder. Ow.”

Michael scoffed, and jerked his head down the road. They left the dead town behind and headed for the trail winding down around the mountainside.

Michael would’ve been content to walk in silence, but Gavin was apparently determined to get _friendly_. With the threat of the biters behind them, he launched into some ridiculous story about his life back in England, and how he used to throw up every morning because it was cold outside or something stupid like that.

Michael half-listened, grunting every now and then as they trudged through the trees. The ground was muddy underfoot, and now and then, yesterday’s rain would drip from the leaves above them. Gavin had pulled his scarf up over his head like a hood. He looked like some sort of veiled woman from a medieval painting. At least he was doing all the talking and not prying into Michael’s business.

“-anyway,” Michael heard him chatter, “My gag reflex is _shit_ so that’s why I can never give blowjobs-”

Yep, tuning out again. He frowned, his thoughts turning back to Brown.

_Gavin seemed so sure I should at least try to ask him. Is it deceptive not to tell him? Would he at least want to know how close we are? I should give him the_ choice _, right?_

He didn’t realise Gavin had fallen silent until he stopped walking and Michael nearly bumped into him. He was frozen, staring into the trees.

“What?” Michael demanded, instantly alert. He looked around for any threat, but when Gavin pointed all he could see was a dark shape somewhere beyond the trees. It wasn’t moving, and although when he squinted he could make out a body, it was oddly high off the ground.

“A biter?” he asked. “It’s not moving.”

“Not yet,” Gavin muttered, and headed for it. Michael grabbed for his arm, but he was already too far off the path.

“Gavin, wait- damn it,” he hissed, and following him, pulling his knife out.

They pushed through the undergrowth and Michael grimaced as the smell of decaying flesh hit. Hanging from one of the trees was a body, a thick rope pulled tight around its neck. It stirred awake as they drew near and began to struggle and thrash - its flesh was bloated, its face purpling. 

“Hanged himself,” Gavin murmured, “But he didn’t know that he’d come back anyway.”

Michael took a step back. This was far from the worst shit he’d seen, but it still sent a chill down his spine. He knew people had killed themselves to get out of all this - a lot of them, actually - and he could imagine why if they had nothing left to live for. But it was still unsettling, and the look on Gavin’s face was too - his eyes huge and lips pressed together, staring up at the body as though transfixed.

“Poor bastard,” Michael muttered, watching the creature uselessly grasp for them.

“We need to kill him,” Gavin said.

“What?”

“We can’t just leave him here.” 

“It’s just a biter,” Michael argued, but Gavin shook his head.

“He wanted to be free of all this.” Before Michael could stop him, he was casting about and picking up a long branch. He started sharpening the end with his knife; jerking, furious little motions until he had a makeshift spear. Michael could only stare. Something felt wrong, Gavin’s shoulders too tight, but he didn’t know what to do.

“Are you okay?” he asked finally.

Gavin didn’t answer. The stick whittled to a sharp point, he carefully lined it up under the writhing, thrashing creature and thrust it up. It took a few tries, then he managed to spear the biter through the head. It fell still with a final gurgling moan, and the forest was silent once again.

Gavin stumbled backwards, shoulders heaving. His face was pale and he was still staring up at the body. Michael felt weird looking at him - a bit _off_ somehow, like he was seeing something too private. After a moment Gavin reached up and started rubbing his arm, absently.

“A lot of people did it, you know,” he said abruptly. When Michael didn’t reply he turned to him, face strained. “Offed themselves when all this started. I guess it’s not the sort of world they wanted to live in.”

“I know,” Michael replied quietly. “Are you alright?”

“Not really,” Gavin said, but didn’t expand on it more. The bright eyes, the cheerful smile that he’d had as they walked through the forest earlier had faded like the sun moving behind a cloud. Michael bit his lip, feeling like an idiot with no idea what he was doing. He wasn’t good at this. 

But Gavin was already letting out a shaky breath and turning away.

“I guess it’s over for him now,” he said. “C’mon, Michael.”

“Hey.” On impulse, Michael reached out and touched his shoulder. Gavin turned back, green eyes wide. Flush with awkwardness, Michael said, “You’re the one damn person who _is_ trying to make this a world worth living in. Don’t get me wrong, I think it’s fucking useless, but… it’s admirable, in a way.”

Gavin laughed, startled but real.

“Appreciate that,” he said, and seemed to relax a little. “I’m okay, Michael, don’t worry. It just made me sad for a moment.”

Michael frowned - he still felt like he was missing something, but Gavin was smiling again, at least. He could’ve scoffed at being so soft - would have, once - but it felt wrong to poke fun at Gavin now, and instead they continued on.

They were barely a few paces back along the road when he stopped short.

“Hey, can you smell-”

“Smoke,” Gavin finished, and looked at him with a frown.

Michael looked around. A thin grey plume was rising from in the trees a little distance away.

_A campfire._ His stomach dropped. _We’re not alone here_.

His first instinct was honestly just to leave. They were far enough from their campsite that he felt no need to involve himself with whoever the fuck else might be out here. But he could already see the look on Gavin's face, and sighed heavily.

"I'm guessing there's no way I can convince you that we don't need to go check that out," he said, and Gavin gave a rueful smile.

"Could be someone who needs help, Michael. I can't just leave them."

"Sure," Michael said, rolling his eyes. "Can we at least approach slowly?"

"Of course!" Gavin said.

It was fucking unbelievable how eager he seemed. Had he forgotten his first meeting with Michael and how fucking badly that'd ended up for him? Apparently, because he scuttled unphased through the trees with Michael trailing reluctantly behind.

The smell of smoke got stronger - then cooking meat. A low growl of voices. Michael realised that the trail opened onto a viewpoint that looked over the side of the mountain - a little carpark and picnic area. They stopped at the tree line and looked out.

Four men sat around a campfire, muttering to each other. Scattered beer bottles surrounded them and one was sucking on a cigarette, another prodding at a piece of meat on the barbecue. They were rough looking fellows - the smoker had long, greasy hair piled up in a messy bun, another was grizzly and bald with deep scars on his face. The cook was a weaselly little fellow with tattoos covering his entire neck and stretching up onto his face. Lingering a little way from the rest of them, a tall man with curly dark hair leaned against a tree, seeming lost in thought.

The tattoos made Michael pause. He could see a machete at the belt of one of them, a gun on the picnic table near another.

"Gav," he whispered, "I'm pretty sure these guys escaped from that prison."

"I think you might be right," Gavin murmured back, his fingers drumming agitatedly against the tree trunk.

"Please tell me you're not gonna approach them," Michael hissed, and Gavin shook his head.

"No, it'd be a bad idea," he whispered. Thank fucking God he had some sense for once. They started back into the forest, but the rustle of leaves gave them away; the scarred bald man had chosen that moment to look up, and in an instant he was on his feet and snatching up the machete.

"Who's out there?" he called. They froze, exchanging an alarmed look.

The other men had leaped to attention, picking up knives and rushing to his side. Michael swallowed hard. He pulled his gun slowly but Gavin shook his head and inched back towards the clearing.

"We aren't your enemy," he called, softly. "We just saw the smoke and came to see who it was."

"Get out here," Baldy snapped.

Michael was torn. They were badly outnumbered and these guys looked like even worse news than the kite family. For once he almost hoped that Gavin could defuse the situation, but he wasn't optimistic. He watched as Gavin took out his gun and the two of them walked back to the viewpoint together.

They emerged from the trees and he saw the prisoners eying them up, noting their weapons.

"We don't mean any harm," Gavin continued quietly. "Just hoped to find some other humans."

"You both got guns. Where'd you find them?" Baldy demanded.

"Police station in the city, but the whole place is overrun," Gavin said. His voice was admirably level - Michael, on the other hand, had his weapon raised and was watching the men like a hawk.

"Just the two of you out here?" the man asked. The scar on his face ran right through his eye, which was milky white and reminded Michael uncomfortably of a biter.

"No," Gavin lied - _good boy_ \- "Actually, our group is waiting, so we should be leaving."

"Come sit with us for a bit," Tattoo-Face sneered, and gestured at the barbecue. "We've got some nice meat going. You look like you could use a good feed."

"We're alright, thank you," Gavin said politely, "We want to be back before dark."

The man's eyes darkened. He wiped his knife on the edge of his shirt.

"It's cute that you think I'm asking nicely," he said, and stepped forward. His eyes were trained on the gun in Gavin's hands, and all Michael's instincts from years of keeping an eye out for threats kicked in at once. In an instant he was swinging his gun up, and he fired just as the man made a lunge for Gavin.

It all happened so quickly that he barely had time to think. The next thing he knew the man was crumpling to the floor and there was a moment of frozen silence. Gavin had stumbled back in shock, arms raised to protect his face - the prisoners staggered back, the nearest one spattered with blood. Then, with a furious roar, the bald man lunged at Michael with machete in hand, and he saw the man with the cigarette leap at Gavin.

_Thank God I shot the one with the gun,_ was Michael's only thought, before he threw himself frantically to the ground to avoid having his throat slit. The man stumbled, his knife cutting through empty air; it was so sharp that Michael heard the air whistle in its wake. He scrambled to his feet and lifted his own weapon again, but he missed the shot and the next second the man was tackling him. The gun fell from his hand and the machete came down, slamming into the ground inches from his ear.

Adrenaline pumping, Michael struggled under the man's weight, one hand coming up and shoving at the guy's face, fingers digging into his cheeks and then the sockets of his eyes. The guy slammed a hand down on his throat, squeezing hard, and he thrashed in panic for a moment before his free hand closed around his knife.

"Die, you bitch," the man hissed, and through the tears blurring his eyes Michael saw the glint of metal as he lifted the machete again-

And then he swung his own knife up, into the man's throat. It tore through his flesh and blood spurted from him in a rush; he crumpled backwards and Michael sat up, wheezing and gasping, clutching his throat.

He saw a commotion beside him and turned. Gavin was on the ground and clearly in trouble; he was wrestling with the long-haired man for his gun and neither of them seemed to be doing well. The guy had one hand fisted in Gavin's hair, wrenching his head around, the other clutching his wrist. Gavin's free hand was shoving at him but as Michael watched, the guy slammed his head into the ground and for a moment he fell limp, dazed.

"Get off him!" he yelled, and cast about for his gun - but as he watched the fourth man, the tall young one, stepped towards the others. He was clutching a fire axe in both hands and had hung back for most of the fight.

Michael snatched up his gun and pointed it at the man just as he lifted the axe. For a second, their eyes met, and time seemed to freeze. _I don’t have time to shoot both_. The long-haired prisoner and Gavin were still on the ground and as Michael watched, the tall guy pressed his lips together and then, with a yell, swung the axe down-

And into the head of the prisoner. It split his skull like a block of firewood and he keeled sideways, Gavin scrambling backwards in shock.

It took Michael a second to realise what he'd seen. As the area fell silent he registered the bodies on the ground. _I killed someone, I fucking killed two people_. And then, _they nearly killed us_.

He reached out and grabbed Gavin’s arm, hauling him to his feet before swinging his gun to point at the last prisoner standing.

“Get on your knees,” he snapped. His hands were shaking.

The guy dropped the axe and raised his hands instantly.

“Hey,” he said, “Can we just talk about this for a second-”

“On the ground! _Now_!” Michael roared, and he quickly dropped to his knees.

“Peace! Peace!” he babbled. “Come on, dude, I just killed that guy for you! I’m not your enemy! I didn’t even like those guys, I just sort of got stuck with them - you know how it is when you’re totally the third wheel but you’re too awkward to leave so you just kind of stick around? It was like that except I was worried they’d kill me-”

“Shut the fuck up,” Michael snapped.

Gavin pulled his arm free. He looked rattled and the guy’s eyes turned to him and widened.

“Oh my God, are you okay?” he asked, and Michael looked at Gavin too. For a second his heart nearly stopped; there was a deep red smear all down Gavin’s left side.

“What?” Gavin asked, as they both stared at him. “I’m fine.”

“You’re _bleeding_ all _over_!” the prisoner shrieked.

“What?” Gavin looked down at himself. Frowned. Then gave a scoffing laugh. “Oh, that’s not blood. I fell on my bag of tomatoes. God damn it,” he added, annoyed. “That was my food for like a week.”

There was a stunned silence. Then, to Michael’s annoyance, the prisoner started laughing - chuckles at first that soon dissolved into hysterical guffaws. After a moment Gavin started giggling too, and Michael elbowed him.

“Come on,” he said. “Not the time. What the fuck are we meant to do with him?”

The guy stopped laughing abruptly. 

“Hey, now,” he said, “Can we lower the gun and just talk about it?”

“He saved my life,” Gavin pointed out. “He could’ve killed me but he didn’t.”

“Yeah, cause I had a fucking _gun_ pointed at him!” Michael argued.

“What’s your name?” Gavin asked, ignoring him and stepping towards the man. And okay, _fuck_ no, Michael could tell already that he was totally considering trusting this guy. The prisoner’s eyes brightened.

“I’m Miles,” he announced. “Miles Luna.”

“I’m Gavin,” Gavin said. “That’s Michael. You came from the prison.”

“That is true,” Miles admitted, “When shit went down the guards abandoned most of us. There was a big break out but also a big fucking bloodbath. A lot of people didn’t get out.”

“And you got stuck with these guys?” Gavin asked.

MIles nodded furiously, pulling a face at the corpses.

“Glad you killed them, to be honest. I was starting to get worried. They already burned half the town down. These guys were their own little squad back in prison. Real bad guys. Involved in drugs and such, killed a lot of people, you know the drill. Like the Mean Girls except, you know, with murder involved.”

“Right,” Gavin said flatly.

“I helped them escape when things kicked off and they got me to tag along with them, but I was always looking for my lucky break. I’m guessing that’s you two.” He smiled hopefully and after a moment Gavin smiled back. Michael was really not a fan of the direction this was going.

“Gavin,” he hissed, “He’s an escaped prisoner from the fucking _supermax_. You are not seriously thinking of trusting him.”

“I’m right here!” Miles protested, but Gavin shook his head, ignoring Michael.

“What did you do?” he asked. “To end up in jail.”

Miles’ silly grin faded, and Michael stepped closer, watching him with narrowed eyes. He was younger than the two of them, though not by much, and while his face had a softness to it, there was something in his eyes that Michael didn’t like. Something a bit - wild, a bit unhinged, something that reminded him too much of himself at the start of all this.

“I wasn’t a serial killer,” he replied. “And it didn’t involve kids. But other than that… the past is the past, wouldn’t you agree? What does _before_ matter any more? Maybe I killed. But your friend there just murdered two men as well.”

Gavin looked at Michael as though registering what’d happened for the first time. Michael’s jaw clenched. He could feel his hands shaking. It hadn’t quite hit him yet, either.

“He won’t tell us what he did,” he said slowly. “That’s not a good sign.”

“I’m a thief, alright?” Miles admitted. “Doesn’t matter what I stole, what I did to try and cover my tracks, but that’s the gist of it. Can you lower that gun now?”

“Put it down, Michael,” Gavin said softly. “I don’t think he’ll attack us.”

Miles smiled and shot him a thumbs up.

“ _Fuck_ no. You need to get the hell out of here,” Michael ordered. “Head north and don’t come back. If you follow us, I’ll shoot you.”

“On my own?” Miles protested. “But there’s so many walkers up there!”

“You’re not sending him away,” Gavin protested. “I’m willing to give him a chance.”

“ _Thank_ you,” Miles cried.

“Can I talk to you for a second?” Michael grabbed Gavin’s arm and tried to pull him back, out of Miles’ earshot, but he refused to budge. “Look, dude, I get that you want to think the best of people but for God’s fucking sake, there has to be a line! And I’d think _escaped from the fucking supermax_ is a pretty damn good line to draw!”

“If the end of the world isn’t a chance to start over, when is?” Gavin asked.

“You have no idea who this guy is. What he’s done. What he’s _capable_ of. We just watched him smash in the head of one of his last group. How do you know he won’t turn on _you_ when a better offer comes along? You’re being _stupid_ ,” Michael cried, and shook him roughly.

Gavin’s face darkened. He ripped his arm free and scowled at Michael.

[“This isn’t your choice to make,”](https://www.strawpoll.me/15275119) he said furiously. “He doesn’t have to stay with _your_ group. He’ll stay with mine. I’ll keep a close eye on him. Give him a chance to prove himself. If he does anything fishy he will be asked to leave.”

“He’s like twice your fucking size, he’ll kill you before you have the chance to ask him to _politely shuffle along_ ,” Michael cried, throwing his hands up. “What about when I’m not here? Or any of your group? Dan might not always be around to protect you.”

He regretted the words as soon as they slipped from his mouth; Gavin flinched and Michael saw the fear, then anger, flare briefly in his eyes before he turned away.

Miles’ gaze was flicking between the two of them.

“You’re not part of the same group?” he asked, confused.

“No,” Gavin said coldly, “We’re not, so it’s not his say.”

He stepped closer and crouched in front of Miles, who was still kneeling. Michael kept his gun fixed on the man, finger on the trigger and itching to fire. Miles stared at Gavin, eyes wide. He didn’t look hostile, Michael had to admit. Almost _hopeful._

“I’m going to ask you some questions,” Gavin said, “Please answer them truthfully.”

“Of course, dude. Love the accent, by the way. Sorry, I’ll focus now.”

“How many people did you kill before the apocalypse?” Gavin asked, and Michael watched breathlessly. He saw Miles swallow, but his eyes stayed trained on Gavin.

“Three,” he replied, voice level.

“How many have you killed since the outbreak?”

“Two,” Miles said, with a glance at the man he’d axed - Michael was trying not to look at it, to be honest. It felt different to a biter - the man’s dead, staring eyes too intense. “The other was also a prisoner, back when we were trying to get out.” 

“Okay,” Gavin said, and took a deep breath. “You got family out here?”

“Orphan,” Miles said, and his smile didn’t reach his eyes. “So no.”

“Why should I trust you?”

“I owe you my life,” Miles said, and nodded at Michael. “You stopped your buddy there killing me. You’re trying to find a way for me to join your crew so I won’t be alone out here. Like, legit, dude, you are being nicer to me today than anyone has in _years_. If you put your trust in me, I’ll prove myself. I have a lot to offer. Need to break into a place? Hotwire a car? No such thing as a locked door these days. I can help you. I _will_ help you. I’ve done bad things, but I appreciate good people.”

Gavin smiled a bit, and Michael felt on the brink of exploding. He could tell he’d been convinced by this guy’s _spiel_.

“The way I do things, it isn’t how you might be used to,” he said. “I try to help others where I can. That means sometimes we might go without. I think the living are our allies. I don’t kill humans.”

_You will,_ Michael thought grimly - the thought flashed into his mind before he could stop it, but his mind was still racing from how fast things had gone. He lowered the gun from Miles and stepped back, almost absently, to stab the two men he’d killed through the head before they could turn. It felt sickeningly routine.

“Oh my God,” Miles said, staring up at him with a smile, “You are a precious little flower. I’m loving it, it’s great, you’re like some sort of benevolent fairytale prince-”

“Excuse me?”

“-I’ll be the roguish, charming thief, who you have to keep in check sometimes but who has your back no matter what. Like I’d cut a bitch for you, but only if you said it was okay.” He gestured between them excitedly. “Yes, I can get on board with that.”

“I… okay.” Gavin glanced at Michael a bit helplessly, but Michael just scowled at him. “I’m happy to give you a chance, but like I said before, you have to follow my way of doing things.”

“All good, all good,” Miles assured him, and grinned when Gavin offered him a hand up.

“Jesus _fucking_ Christ,” Michael sighed, rubbing his temples. “You’re gonna get yourself fucking killed. I want no part of it.”

Gavin ignored him, and Michael turned away with shoulders hunched. He felt vaguely ill and wasn’t sure how things had deteriorated this quickly. His camaraderie with Gavin seemed to have vanished in an instant; he’d forgotten just how _ridiculous_ he could be. Like how hard would it have been to leave Miles on his own? If he was as good a thief as he said he could’ve stolen a car and headed off to take care of himself.

Now it was just one more danger for them all to worry about. Not only that, but Gavin hadn’t even _considered_ Michael’s point of view. That hurt more than anything.

_This is gonna end fucking badly_ , he thought, and snatched up the machete from the ground - then the third gun. Like hell he was letting Miles have it, or Gavin after this. The other two didn’t comment, and Michael didn’t look at them as he marched away into the undergrowth.

\---

Gavin was getting a heavy dose of his own medicine as they walked through the forest, because Miles would not shut the fuck up and even as he tried to listen politely, his thoughts were elsewhere. He wondered with embarrassment if Michael had felt like this as he blabbered away this morning, and felt suddenly very self conscious. He couldn’t help it; he _wanted_ to get to know the other man, and had hoped sharing more about himself would make Michael maybe feel a bit friendlier towards him.

Well, that had gone so fucking well, hadn’t it?

Now Michael’s simmering anger was palpable even from a distance, and Gavin wasn’t sure why it made him so upset.

_He was nice to you last night. And this morning. Should’ve known it wouldn’t last._ But God, he’d _wanted_ it to. Despite everything, Michael was one of the few people who _understood_ the pressure of being a leader in this new world - of having to make calls that affected the survival of people who depended on them. They had different approaches, but why couldn’t Michael just let him do his own thing?

_Maybe Barbara can help him come around._

“Anyway,” Miles was saying, “I barely went to school but I taught myself to read from these comic books this old guy down at the newsagent would give me - _Guardians of the Galaxy_ , that was my favourite. Do you reckon I look a bit like Peter Quill?”

“More like the fucking raccoon,” Michael shot back over his shoulder - the first thing he’d said in an hour - Miles just guffawed, but Gavin could barely bring himself to smile.

Still. He was learning all sorts of things just by listening. Like that Miles really, _really_ liked to sing. Like a lot. At any given moment.

“-and what’s fucked me up the most was the first walker I saw,” he continued, after an enthusiastic rendition of _Walk Like An Egyptian_ , “The very first guy who turned in the jail. Died in his sleep and then came back and ate his cellmate. They were across the hall from me - the screams woke me up. Saw the whole fucking thing. All the shit in a human body, you don’t realise what it looks like. Like you think it’d just be blood but there was, like, fat and stuff-”

Gavin gagged a little.

“God, it was horrifying! It reminded me a bit of mozzarella cheese, all bubbly and stringy-”

“I get it,” Gavin choked, “I get it, alright? Don’t need the vivid details.”

“I couldn’t eat for two days,” Miles said sadly. “Worst shit I’d ever seen. But we’re all used to it now.”

Gavin nodded, but his attention was still focused on Michael. After a moment, Miles followed his gaze.

“How’d you run into that guy, then?” he asked. “Spared him like you spared me?”

“No,” Gavin said. His lips twisted wryly. “He beat me up because we both wanted the same vehicle.”

“Shit. But now you’re friends?”

“Hardly,” Gavin snorted. When Miles kept staring, he fidgeted self-consciously. “I want to be. He has his faults but he cares about his people. We just have… a different way of seeing the world. But he hates me. A lot of people find the way I do things frustrating. I can see why, but it’s not gonna stop me.”

“Stubborn!” Miles declared. “Nah, I get it. You gotta stick to your guns. I mean, sure, maybe you’ll get us all killed, but at least we’ll get into heaven!”

His eyes were sparkling mischievously and Gavin couldn’t help laughing, even if it was ridiculous. Up ahead, he saw Michael’s shoulders stiffen. But he felt a bit more at ease, and even if he didn’t quite trust Miles yet - it was nice having someone else in his corner.

\---

It was slow going down the mountain, and the storm had caused several trees to fall across the track, meaning they had to take a few detours off the trail. Evening fell just as they reached the base of the slopes and there was still a good half a day’s travel left before they’d reach the campsite again. They made the tactical decision to stop, Michael calling to let his people know they were still on the way back.

It was nerve-wracking making camp out in the open, without tents or walls to keep danger at bay. They gathered wood and Miles started humming some stupid song again. Gavin could see a vein beginning to pulse in Michael’s neck.

“Always wanted to be a boy scout,” he declared cheerfully, as he rubbed two sticks together until Michael scoffed and tossed him a lighter. “Thanks, dude!”

“Whatever,” Michael muttered, and stalked a little distance away. He stretched his leg out and began peeling the bandage off.

Gavin glanced helplessly between them. Last night, and the shop, and the way Michael had smiled and laughed - it felt like a lifetime ago, distant and unobtainable. His stomach was tight with nerves, but he forced himself to walk over to him.

“How’s your leg?” he asked quietly.

“Fine,” Michael snapped, without looking up. Gavin crouched beside him and offered a clean bandage. For a moment Michael just sat there, staring at his own grisly wound - but finally he gave in and snatched it from Gavin’s hand.

Gavin looked away, chewing his lip. He wanted to say something but couldn’t think of anything that wouldn’t set Michael off. It seemed Michael was equally deep in thought; after a moment he turned to Gavin and grunted, “Would you have killed that guy? If Miles and I hadn’t been there and he’d kept attacking you.”

“I would have tried not to,” Gavin replied, uneasily. “I would’ve… knocked him out or something.”

“You know that only works in the movies. Smash someone on the head hard enough and you’ll kill them. How’d you think you crushed that biter’s skull the other day?”

“I know,” Gavin said, but bit his lip. “I…”

“There’s gonna be a breaking point, Gavin,” Michael said. He didn’t sound angry now, just exhausted. “There’s _gotta_ be. It’s gonna come sooner or later and the more you deny it, the more you’re gonna get hurt. Barbara killed someone, you know. She didn’t want to. But it just - _happened._ In the heat of the moment…”

He flung his hands up. There was a look in his eyes that Gavin recognised - he’d felt it himself, earlier today. That sinking in the pit of your stomach when a demon you thought you’d put to rest suddenly stirs awake.

“Was that the first time you’ve killed someone?” he blurted out. “Not a biter, another human.”

Something alarmed flashed in Michael’s eyes. He curled into himself and turned away.

“I don’t know.”

“What’s that mean?” Gavin demanded. “How can you not _know_?”

Michael just shrugged. He wouldn’t look at Gavin, and the conversation was clearly over. After a long silence Gavin rose and headed back to the campfire.

Miles was sprawled on his back, head pillowed on Gavin’s bag of supplies, snoring away without a care in the world. Gavin settled down to keep watch, jumping a little every time the wind rustled a branch or the fire cast a particularly ominous shadow.

_I wish Dan was here_. He felt more out of his depth than ever. But Miles was asleep, and Michael was a good few metres away, and he wrapped his arms around his knees and hugged himself, hoping his racing mind would settle soon.

\---

“Ever hitch hiked?” Miles asked.

They were trailing down the side of the road and it felt like they had been walking forever. Gavin’s legs ached from spending the last few days picking his way through the forest, and the highway seemed to stretch endlessly ahead of them.

“No,” he replied, “Have you?”

“Yeah,” Miles replied, and spun around to walk backwards for a bit. “When I ran away from my last foster home. It’s fucking scary, dude. So many people don’t stop and you think they could run you over and they wouldn’t even give a fuck. And then when someone _does_ stop you wonder if they’re gonna kill you in your sleep. But usually it’s such a last resort that you just gotta roll with it.”

“No chance of that happening now,” Gavin murmured. The road was dead, save the occasional abandoned car.

Miles trailed to a stop, staring over Gavin’s shoulder.

“Holy shit,” he said, and Gavin looked up.

“What?”

Miles rushed to the roadside, looking down the hill that sloped away into the city. This far out it was mostly factories and industrial complexes, but he pointed and Gavin noticed a fence filled with bright blue shipping containers.

“Is that a storage facility?” he asked, and Miles nodded excitedly.

“Yes!”

Michael had come up by their side, tapping his foot impatiently.

“What do you think’s in there? No point breaking in, it’s probably just furniture and shit,” he grunted.

Miles shook his head.

“It’s not the containers I’m interested in. Look at that sweet ass truck.” He pointed; sure enough, there was a big truck inside the fence. “Now that thing could run over a road full of walkers no problem. Nice big storage area in the back. Low centre of gravity so no chance it’ll get knocked over. You want a vehicle to survive the apocalypse in, that’s your girl.”

“That area’s crawling with biters,” Michael said, unimpressed. “There’s no way we’re getting that truck out of there.”

Sure enough, the entire fenced in area was filled with the dead, and Gavin could see why - the wrecked remains of a quarantine centre nearby, ripped tents billowing in the wind. It sent a thrill of fear through his stomach as he remembered, for a moment, the sight of so many of them advancing on the greenhouse through the glass - of standing on the edge of the roof watching them swarm the street below.

“No fucking way,” Michael repeated, shaking his head. “Not worth the risk.”

“My group does need a bigger vehicle if we’re gonna move from the forest,” Gavin admitted. It’d been on his mind lately but he hadn’t been sure where to get one.  
  
“You’re not serious,” Michael said, and stared at him in horror. “ _No_.”  
  
“If you guys could draw them to the other side of the compound, I can get into that truck, hotwire it and pick you up easy as pie,” Miles said. His confidence bordered on cockiness. “Seriously, I swear to God, I can steal any vehicle on the planet. It’d hardly even be a challenge.”  
  
“We don’t know anything about this guy,” Michael argued. “You can’t risk it.”  
  
“I think I might,” Gavin said. He knew where Michael was coming from - at the end of the day, he _didn’t_ know Miles. What he was capable of, whether he really even legitimately _wanted_ to join them - but Miles _wasn’t_ lying about how good the truck looked, and honestly Gavin did need it. He didn’t think they could stay in the forest much longer and sight of the horde so close to where they were camping had him rattled.

“Your fucking funeral,” Michael said, and turned and started walking off down the road. When he got a few metres away he paused and looked back over his shoulder. “Seriously? You’re _actually_ gonna have a go at getting that thing?”

Gavin nodded, biting his lip. He saw Michael hesitate. Honestly, Gavin expected him just to walk away. He clearly wanted to - what did he owe them, anyway? He could get home on his own from here.

But after a moment, Michael sighed heavily and trudged back over to them.

“You’d better be able to fucking do this,” he spat at Miles, who just grinned widely.

“Won’t let you down, boss!”  
  
Gavin shot Michael a small smile, but the other man was already turning away. 

\---

Up close, the storage yard was even worse. The place was a complete deathtrap; stacks of containers lined a yard area that was jam-packed with biters. The gates were chained shut but there was a big hole in the fence where they’d clearly managed to get in from the road.

They approached slowly, keeping behind cars and out of sight. For someone so big, Miles moved remarkably quietly - he was light on his feet in a way Gavin didn’t expect, but that let him dart around the biters without drawing too much attention.

“Okay,” he whispered, “Here’s the plan. The truck’s on the other side of the compound. I’ll climb over the fence, but I’m going to need a distraction.”  
  
“I don’t like where this is going,” Michael muttered.

“You guys draw them to the other side of the yard. Get up on the shipping containers if you can. Once I have the truck, I’ll pick you up.”  
  
“This is risky,” Michael said.

“You miss one hundred percent of the shots you don’t take!” Miles cried cheerfully.

“That doesn’t make it a good idea to play Russian Roulette,” Michael muttered, and Gavin glanced at him worriedly. “Fine. Let’s get this shit done and go home.”  
  
Miles grinned and clapped him on the shoulder. For a flash of a moment, Gavin doubted himself. They’d met the guy _yesterday_ , after all. But Miles was already jogging off, and they could hardly back out now.

Beside him, Michael took a deep breath.

“Why the fuck did I agree to this?” he groaned.

“Why _did_ you?” Gavin couldn’t help asking. Michael had been so hot and cold since this whole mess started that it had left him feeling off-balance, never quite knowing where he stood with the other man.

Michael froze. He didn’t seem to have an answer.

“Don’t make me regret it,” he muttered finally, and got up, making a run for the hole in the fence. Gavin followed close behind.

Michael hurled one of the firecrackers and as it exploded in a shower of sparks, the biters turned and meandered towards it. He took the lead, shoving his way past the others, knife flashing at any that got too close. Gavin followed in his wake as they made a beeline for one of the shipping containers that sat scattered in the yard.

_God, there are so many of them_.

For a moment it was all he could take in - the masses of stinking, decomposing bodies surrounding them, flooding his senses and making him nearly feel dizzy. Hands reaching towards him, shuffling footsteps and yellowed eyes, panic rising tight in his chest-

And then they reached the shipping container, and he leaped and swung himself up. His shoulder ached again where he’d pulled it the other day, but he ignored it. Michael was scrambling up next to him.

Gavin yelped as a hand grabbed his ankle, but the next thing he knew Michael was gripping his belt and hauling him up the last few centimetres he needed to get his knees on top of the container and scramble to safety. He realised he was gasping - it hadn’t hit him until now just how _scared_ he was, and it didn’t help as they looked out over the sea of biters.

The firecrackers had gone out and all of them were swarming towards the shipping container, banging against the sides of it and reaching up to try and claw at them. For a second Gavin imagined falling into the fray - they’d tear him apart like piranhas, and the thought made him feel sick. It was dizzying to look at the shifting bodies, and worse to notice the details. The young woman whose hair was dyed with pink streaks. The teenaged boy with all his front teeth knocked out. The older woman in her best pearl necklace. All of them human, once, with lives and hopes and dreams. Not any more.

“Hey,” Michael said, snapping his fingers in Gavin’s face. He jolted back to attention and pulled his torch from his bag. They set to making a huge commotion, yelling and banging their torches against the container with metallic _clangs_ , flashing the light around. All the biters in the yard surged around them, agitated. 

“There he goes,” Michael hissed, pointing, and Gavin looked up to see Miles scaling the fence on the other side of the yard. The area around the truck was clear now, and his breath caught in his throat.

_He’s gonna do it!_

Miles hadn’t been lying, there was something practiced and nimble about the way he scaled the fence and dropped down neatly to the other side. As they watched, he darted over to the truck and vanished behind it. Gavin couldn’t see what he was doing, but he must’ve broken in somehow because seconds later he appeared in the cab - and a moment after that, the truck’s lights turned on and he heard the hum of its engine coming to life.

“He knows what he’s doing,” Michael said, a grudging admiration in his voice. Gavin nodded - the truck began to creep forward and some of the biters turned with interest towards this new sound. As Gavin watched, Miles backed the truck up - then slammed on the accelerator. It lurched forward and knocked down the remaining section of the fence.

The sound made about half the biters turn and start lumbering towards the truck. It left the yard and vanished out of sight. Gavin froze.

_He’s coming back,_ he assured himself - but a minute passed with no sign of Miles and when he looked at Michael he saw the same dawning realisation on his face.

“Where the fuck did he go?” he spat.

“Just wait,” Gavin whispered, but Michael’s face clouded with rage. He stood up on the container, straining to try and see.

“Is he leaving- he’s fucking _leaving!_ God _damn it_!” He slammed a hand down on the metal floor, and Gavin flinched.

“No,” he said, “Just - give him a minute.”  
  
“He’s fucking abandoned us.” Michael rounded on him and Gavin could see, under his anger, how scared he was. He was too - the shipping container felt suddenly very small and precarious, each thud of the biters’ fists making it shake under their feet. “I’m gonna die up here on this stupid blue box because you decided to be an idiot and trust this guy!”  
  
“You didn’t have to come along!” Gavin cried. His voice was trembling more than he liked, and he struggled to hold his ground when Michael stepped forward and jabbed a finger in his chest.

“I came because I _figured_ something like this would happen and I hoped I could stop it! Jesus fucking Christ, Gavin, I _warned_ you! You want to think the best of people but that’s not how things _work_ anymore, you-”

“Shut up!” The words tore from Gavin’s throat before he could stop them, and he saw the shock in Michael’s face. “Just - shut _up_ , Michael, I’m sick of hearing it! You keep telling me that you’re a bad person too, so what’s the fucking difference? Why should I trust you and not him? Why should I give you a chance but not anyone else?”  
  
“I-” Michael began, a bit helplessly, but Gavin was fired up now, the stress of the last few days spilling out. He was rarely one to get confrontational, but now he got up in Michael’s face.

“I get it, I fucked up - you think I don’t _realise_ this is dangerous? But no one _forced_ you to come along so there’s no need to keep tearing me down! You could’ve gone your own way any time. I don’t see why you didn’t. I _want_ to work with you here, Michael,” he pleaded, “I want our groups to be friends, but I’m having a hard enough time winning my people over without you pointing out everything I’m fucking up too. To me, it’s worth the risk. You think the world’s bad now, what do you think it’s gonna be like if people like me give up? Thought you _admired_ that. Or were you just lying to make me feel better?”

Michael’s eyes were huge and he looked like Gavin had slapped him in the face. Catching his breath, Gavin realised he’d been shouting loudly enough to rile up the biters around them. He turned away, swallowing a lump in his throat.

“Gavin,” he heard Michael begin, “I-”

Another crash made them both jump - and suddenly the truck was back, ramming through the fence again and speeding towards them. They both flinched, but it turned at the last minute, skidding to a halt parallel with the shipping container. It’d run over the mass of biters like they were nothing but bugs being trampled underfoot, leaving a smear of blood and limbs on the ground. Miles honked the horn and leaned out the cab window.

“Jump in!” he cried, gleefully.

The truck bed was right next to the container; Michael scrambled in and Gavin jumped after him. He banged his shoulder on the way down and hissed - it’d been getting such a beating today that it was starting to hurt to move it - and Michael steadied him once they got inside.

“Okay?” he asked.

Gavin couldn’t answer. He felt close to tears, everything was moving so fast, and he turned away as the truck sped off. He flinched as he felt them run over several more biters, human bodies being churned away under the wheels like some sort of grotesque meatworks. Michael looked upset, but Gavin pulled away from him and closed his eyes.

_We’re safe, we’re out_ \- but he didn’t feel safe, and he needed a minute alone - to gather the torn shreds of his composure, to try and at least _look_ calm once more.

\---

“We thought you’d abandoned us,” Michael said bluntly, once they were back out on the road. The biters had fallen away behind them and they’d stopped by the remains of another crashed truck to get more petrol.

Gavin stared at the ground, rubbing his shoulder. He felt drained and all he wanted was to hide away in his tent and sleep for a year. _Won’t even get the chance to do that. The second I get back it’ll be questions and demands and Flynt will probably have stirred up trouble and I’ll spend all week trying to figure out a plan for more food-_

At least they had the truck. He could’ve kissed Miles for managing to pull this off.

“Oh no!” Miles cried. “I mean, I can totally see why, but honestly it didn’t even cross my mind. I actually just couldn’t figure out how to drive the truck. I sort of crashed out of the yard and then had to stop and work out how to turn around. I told you I had your back.”  
  
“Thank you,” Gavin murmured, and Miles stared at him for a long moment. Gavin didn’t meet his eyes, too exhausted to interact right now, and Miles stepped towards him.

“Gavin?” he said. “I told you. I owe you. Very few people have ever given me a chance before. I meant what I said - you trusting me _means_ something. I don’t want to be on my own out here… I think this could be a good partnership.”  
  
Gavin nodded, mustering the energy to smile and clap Miles on the shoulder.

“I know,” he said. “Thanks. Let’s get home.”  
  
Miles nodded. He rolled his sleeves up, dramatically rubbed his hands together, and grabbed the petrol can and rubber tube from the truck, marching over to siphon the gas himself. Gavin turned away and walked to the tree line, breathing heavily and rubbing his temples. He felt more anxious than he had in a long time - things were going okay, objectively, but he just felt overwhelmed.

_Just breathe. Come on. You got this_. Except he _didn’t_ , and Flynt knew it and Michael knew it and all his usual reassurances weren’t helping very much.

“Gavin?” a voice said quietly behind him.

He didn’t turn, but after a moment Michael came up by his side anyway. He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing at Gavin and opening and shutting his mouth a few times.

“I’m sorry,” he said finally, something clumsy about the words. “I- I was scared back there and that’s why I yelled at you. You were right that it was my choice to come along.”  
  
Gavin couldn’t bring himself to smile.

“For a long time,” he whispered, “I felt like my whole existence was a mistake. Like I couldn’t do anything right. I told you, I never _wanted_ to lead - but if I step aside now, I’m scared of what will happen. What my group will become. Maybe I’m not the best person to keep us all alive. But I can’t stand by and watch people be abandoned, or hurt, when I could’ve tried to stop it.”  
  
“You’re right,” Michael admitted - Gavin turned to him in surprise. Michael was staring into the distance, fists clenched, the words pulled from his mouth reluctantly. “I didn’t mean it, Gavin. And I wasn’t lying when I said I admire what you do.”  
  
“Then why?” Gavin pleaded, and Michael let out a shaky breath. When he finally looked at him, there was something too vulnerable in his face.

“I told you I was a bodyguard,” he said. “The last job I took went… went really wrong. The guy I was meant to be protecting was… God, you remind me too much of him. An idealist - an activist, fighting against the corruption in his home country. He was visiting America for a conference, but he had enemies back in Asia. I don’t know how the hell I ended up on a job as important as that. I guess they didn’t realise how serious the threat was.”

“Someone killed him?” Gavin asked, and Michael shook his head.

“Not him. He wasn’t in the car when the bomb went off. But his family were in there waiting for him.” He bit his lip and Gavin could see the tears welling in his eyes. “It was - God, it was horrible. It was worse than any of the shit we’ve seen since the outbreak. They weren’t dead like biters. They were _alive_ and-”  
  
“You don’t have to talk about it,” Gavin began, but Michael shook his head.

"No, I - I do. It was the worst thing I’d ever seen and I couldn’t get over it. I quit my job. I started drinking. They were just civilians, they’d never done anything wrong. I wouldn’t talk to anyone about it - not my partner, not my family, not that we were very close anyway. I started getting in fights and during one of them, I hit someone across the head with a bottle. I was drunk, I didn’t mean to - but he went down hard and ended up in hospital. They weren’t sure he’d make it. Never got to find out because he hadn’t woken up by the time the outbreak happened. I’d probably be sitting in jail right now if it wasn’t for the dead rising up.”  
  
“Jesus, Michael,” Gavin whispered. He could see the remorse in Michael’s face - the way his fists were clenched and his shoulders trembling.

“I drove everyone away from me,” Michael choked out. “I figured I was better off alone. But then Geoff found me, two months in. Just an idiot roaming the city alone looking for a drink. He took me in, even when I told him not to. He _saved_ that entire group - Barbara and the rest - risked his life for them day after day. And then we got attacked by biters and he got bit saving _my_ sorry ass. He was a good man and he’s dead because he thought he should take a chance on a stupid drunkard who didn’t give a shit about him.”  
  
“Michael…”  
  
“It was his choice. He was a good person, just like you. Just like the man I was meant to protect. And all that happened was they ended up hurt.” He looked up, eyes haunted, and Gavin wanted to reach out and hug him - but he didn’t dare, and stood frozen. “I don’t think you’re doing this because you’re stupid, Gavin. But I’m scared you’re gonna wind up hurt, too.”  
  
“Sometimes it’s worth the risk,” Gavin whispered.

“But the others in your group? Is it worth risking _them_?” 

Gavin couldn’t answer that. He looked away and after a while Michael let out a shaky sigh.

“Anyway. Don’t let me give you shit about what you do. I’m just a sorry, fucked up bastard myself. My opinion doesn’t mean anything.”  
  
“It does,” Gavin said, and looked over at him. “You think you’re a bad person, Michael, but you’ve stepped up. I admire you too, in a way.”  
  
“You shouldn’t,” Michael said, and tentatively reached out, hand brushing along Gavin’s arm. “For what it’s worth, I hope you are right. That maybe your way of doing things will work out.  I just can’t make myself believe it. But I _’_ m sorry.”  
  
“It’s fine,” Gavin whispered. Something in him felt a little more at ease. “And thank you - for sharing that with me. I think I understand better now.”  
  
Michael managed a small smile - and now Gavin gathered his courage, and reached out to squeeze his arm. Michael didn’t pull away, and after a moment he even leaned into the touch. For a moment Gavin felt very close to him.

“Flight attendant,” he said suddenly.

“What?” Michael asked.

“Before the outbreak. I was a flight attendant.” He gave a small smile. “I was good at organising people and keeping calm in a fix. Dan and I were at the airport when shit went down. I guess I ended up in charge because people thought I knew what the hell I was doing.”  
  
“Oh my God.” Michael stared at him in sheer delight. “I would not have guessed that. Can you do the whole safety spiel?”  
  
“Not right now,” Gavin laughed, “But if Miles keeps driving that truck through crowds of biters, catch me assuming the emergency brace position.”  
  
Michael was grinning openly now and Gavin couldn’t help but think, again, that it was a much nicer look than his usual scowl. For all his rough edges and short temper - there was something nice about his eyes, something warm in his smile. Somehow even that small moment made everything seem a little brighter - a little easier to handle.

\---

Michael felt like these last three days had aged him about thirty years. He felt emotionally drained and really just wanted to lock himself in his trailer and not interact with another human again for a while.

Still - he couldn’t help feeling an odd, bittersweet sadness when they stopped the truck at the exit to his group’s campsite and Gavin and Miles got out to farewell him. Gavin looked a bit upset, too, and Michael felt an odd fondness for him.

_Three days._ He supposed you’d feel closer to anyone after being trapped with them, and he’d die before admitting maybe he was going a _bit_ soft - but he couldn’t help it. Gavin _meant_ well, and it was hard for Michael to hate him when he could see how hard he was trying - how much, like Michael, he was struggling under the burden of leadership he hadn’t wanted. They were in this together whether Michael liked it or not, and what Gavin had done for Miles… the way he looked at Michael, too, like everything he’d done and all the mistakes he’d made didn’t matter, like he _deserved_ the second chance Geoff had given him…

Maybe he’d been too much like Geoff, maybe that was why Michael had pushed him away. But this was another chance, another lifeline being cast his way, and he’d be a fool not to grasp it.

“Be careful,” he said, and Gavin nodded. “It’s getting dangerous out here, more dangerous by the day. Maybe it’s better if we do… work together a little.”  
  
“ _Michael_ ,” Gavin gasped in delight. The way his eyes lit up was so stupid but Michael couldn’t help but smile at it.

“Swap food and trade supplies if we need to,” he said casually, “Maybe get a map and keep in contact about which places we’ve picked clean already so we don’t waste time.”  
  
“I’d like that,” Gavin said happily, and when he sprang forward and gave Michael a quick, brief hug, he didn’t pull away - even when Gavin whispered in his ear, “Thanks for sticking with me back there.”  
  
“Whatever,” Michael said, but couldn’t stop the fondness in his voice. Gavin looked so much happier when he turned away that Michael couldn’t help the warmth in his chest. It was nice, to know he’d made him feel that way.

Gavin climbed back into the truck and Miles turned to follow, but Michael grabbed his arm and yanked him close. Miles looked comically startled and because the motherfucker was so tall Michael had to drag him down in order to hiss in his ear.

“I still don’t trust you, asshole,” he whispered furiously. “I swear to God if you do anything to his group I will fucking destroy you.”  
  
“Duly noted!” Miles replied, and stared at Michael when he let go of him. “Seriously, you don’t need to worry. I don’t know what this group is like, but my loyalty’s with Gavin.”  
  
“It better be,” Michael grumbled, and Miles gave him a jaunty salute before clambering back into the truck. Michael waved as he watched them leave  before turning and walking back down the trail to his own people.

\---

Barbara rushed to Michael as soon as he walked into the clearing, slamming into him and hugging him tightly. After a moment of frozen shock, he put his arms around her and hugged her back.

"You’re back,” she whispered - she sounded upset, and when he pulled back there were tears in her eyes. “Three days, Michael - there were so _many_ back there - we were worried.”  
  
“I told you I was fine,” he said, but the others were wandering over now - Aaron and Chris, even Ryan rising from where he’d been sitting by the fire.

“We still weren’t sure,” Barbara said, and when Chris sidled over and pulled him into a hug - Aaron’s hand coming down to squeeze his shoulder as well - it hit him properly how scary that must have been. They didn’t usually go out alone and one person disappearing for so long must’ve been nerve-wracking.

_They were worried about you._ He didn’t think anyone had cared that much about him, and for a second it was nearly overwhelming - how much even this shoddy little camp felt like coming _home_.

“I’m fine,” he murmured, and rather awkwardly hugged Chris back. “I was with Gavin the whole time. We took care of each other.”  
  
“Yeah?” Barbara asked, and got such a smug look on his face that Michael had to roll his eyes.

“Yeah,” he said, “He’s alright when you get to know him.”  
  
She grinned and Michael had to scowl a bit, but he couldn’t hold the frown when she grabbed his hand and tugged him towards the fire.

“Come on. Tell us everything.”  
  
“What’ve you been doing while I was gone?” he asked - the camp looked much the same, which was a relief. He’d half been expecting to find it burned to the ground or overrun by biters.

“Some hunting,” Barbara said vaguely. “Aaron set traps for birds so we at least have some meat.”  
  
“What the fuck kind of birds are out here in the middle of winter?”  
  
“I don’t know what they are, but they’re delicious.” She giggled, almost nervously, and Michael could see the tremor in her hands, the almost hysterical relief in her eyes. It was endearing to know they’d been that worried.

“Who got Ryan out of his trailer?” he asked in amusement - he saw Chris’ small smile and couldn’t help wondering just what’d happened while he was gone. They reached the fireside and his eyes met Ryan’s - the other man gave him a small nod. Michael nodded back. Everyone seemed happy for once - even him, glad that he was _home_ , and he let himself sit down and enjoy it.

\---

Later, when the fire had died down to embers and it was just him and Barbara left keeping watch, a tired melancholy hit him.

“I killed someone,” he heard himself say.

She looked up from where she had been sharpening their knives. He stared into the last bright glow of the fire until his eyes ached.

“I told you about those escaped prisoners,” he continued slowly. “I shot one of them without even thinking about it. Stabbed another. Two people.”  
  
“You had to,” she whispered, nothing but a calm acceptance in her face. “Just like I did.”  
  
“It happened so fast.” He looked down at his hands, calloused and grimy. “I guess the worst part is that I don’t even feel that bad about it. You’d think I would - but I don’t. They’re bad people. It’s just how things are.”  
  
“Michael…”  
  
“I know you said you never want to kill anyone.” He looked up at her - she was watching him intently, brows slightly furrowed. “But sometimes we don’t have a choice. Gavin was right to spare Miles - but I was right to shoot the guy who was going for him. We need to figure out rules, even if they’re just for ourselves.”  
  
“Rules of when it’s okay to _kill_ someone?” she cried, aghast.

“The answer can’t be ‘never’ nowadays. It just _can’t_.”  
  
Barbara looked uncomfortable, but she couldn’t seem to find a way to argue with that.

“I’ll agree to that if you agree to always at least _try_ to reach out first,” she whispered. “You said Gavin was right about that, at least.”  
  
Michael nodded. A silence fell, and he bit his lip. He wanted to tell her everything, suddenly - just like he’d told Gavin. It’d been a strange day, felt almost unreal - but the thought of letting his walls down wasn’t as terrifying as it had once been. A moment later Barbara shifted closer to him, and reached out to tentatively touch his hand.

“Michael,” she said quietly, “Thank you for compromising on that. I’m glad you’re back. We were all really worried about you.”  
  
_Tell her_ , something in him begged. _Why not?_  
  
“Can I talk to you about something?” he asked.

“Of course,” Barbara said, so earnestly that Michael felt almost overwhelmed.

“It’s about - something that I did before all this. Maybe the past doesn’t matter anymore, but…”  
  
“I’d like to know more about you,” Barbara whispered. “You’ve done so much for us but you’re practically a stranger.”  
  
“You might hate me after.” He hated himself for feeling so scared, but Barbara squeezed his hand.

“I know what you’re like now. Whatever happened, whatever you did, I doubt it could make me hate you.”  
  
He managed a small, and got up.

“I’ll tell you in a minute. There’s something I have to do first.”  
  
“Of course,” she said. He walked a little way away to the treeline, looking out into the dark forest towards where Gavin’s group was staying. Wondered what he was doing now - how Miles was settling into the group, if they’d managed to find food. He took a deep breath and pulled out the walkie-talkie.

_What do you have to lose by asking him? It’s better not to be alone._ It hadn’t been before, it wasn’t back there the last three days, and it wasn’t now. He turned on the walkie-talkie.

“Brown,” he whispered, “Are you there?”  
  
No answer.

“Come in, Brown.”

Usually this time of night was when they would talk, and when there was nothing but silence, Michael was hit with a sinking fear and horror. _He’s not picking up. What if he’s dead out there in a train tunnel somewhere?_  
  
What if he’d missed his chance?  
  
But he forced himself to calm down. _Maybe he’s just busy right now. Maybe he left his walkie-talkie in his bag or can’t pick up at the moment._

_Don’t give up yet._

He glanced back at the glow of the fire. It wasn’t just him and Brown anymore - it was real people, people who would miss him if he was gone, people who hugged him tightly when they were glad to see him and squeezed his hand when he was scared. How could that ever be a bad thing?

_I’ll try again later. I can make him see, I have to._ He put the walkie-talkie away and took a deep breath before turning and heading back to the fire, where Barbara waited patiently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Graphic I made](http://whalehuntingboyfriends.tumblr.com/post/171878402784/you-think-that-were-all-still-living-by-fairytale) for the story <3


	5. 1x05: Sinking Ship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Major warning for gore/graphic violence for this chapter.** Also for this one in particular, a gentle reminder that these are fictionalised versions of the characters and aren’t intended to reflect real life relationships.  <3
> 
> Manual poll link: <https://www.strawpoll.me/15337358>

Ryan sat sketching in his notebook. In the quiet of the night, each deft stroke of the pencil seemed to ring out loudly - but the scratch of a pen beside him made it seem far less lonely.

He glanced over at Chris, scribbling away in his journal next to him. He was intently focused, eyes fixed on the page and pen moving too fast for Ryan to keep up with. From here he couldn’t make out the words, only a rough scrawl, difficult to read. They sat up on the roof of his trailer - the night was cool but not as cold as it had been, and the crisp, fresh air made Ryan feel more alive. He looked back down at his own work - a plan to reinforce the bus against biters.

It was nice not to be alone, even if he didn’t want to admit it. Things felt different - but not in a bad way. He felt less trapped in this new world. Before it had seemed like a nightmare he’d never wake up from - now it felt a little more like dawn was on the horizon.

A movement below made them both pause, peering over the edge of the roof - but it was just Barbara, bringing a new stack of wood to the campfire. As they watched, Aaron rushed up from where he’d been sitting polishing his gun, and went to help her.

Beside him, he heard Chris let out a little breath. The two of them lingered for a moment, talking - Ryan couldn’t make out their conversation from here - Aaron took the firewood into his arms and Barbara rocked on her heels, reaching to tuck her hair behind her ears. They walked to the fire together and whatever Aaron said made her throw her head back and laugh - Ryan could see his grin from here as he sat beside her and leaned in to talk.

“He’s into her,” Chris said.

Ryan turned to him and raised an eyebrow, unable to help wondering if he was jealous - and if so, of _who_ \- but Chris just had a small, wistful smile on his face.

“It’s probably a bad idea nowadays,” he continued. “Or maybe not. I guess you have to keep living your life, you know? Can’t just be too afraid to do anything. It’s already been months. What about in years?”  
  
_We’ll all be dead,_ Ryan thought, but didn’t say it out loud.

“They’re just talking,” he murmured.

“Dude, come on.” Chris leaned forward to get a better look. “Why wouldn’t they like each other? Aaron’s funny and smart and strong. And Barbara is so sweet and brave. Plus they’re both so good-looking.”  
  
“Objectively speaking,” Ryan replied, “I suppose they’re above average.”  
  
Chris stared at him for a moment, then burst out with a startled laugh. He nudged Ryan with his elbow.

“You’re so _weird_ ,” he said, and Ryan bristled instantly - he’d had that word thrown at him far too often - but it didn’t sound malicious. “You date anyone? Before all this.”  
  
“No,” Ryan admitted, grudgingly. He wanted to snap at Chris to mind his own business, but bit his tongue. It was just - _embarrassing_ to admit he had zero experience in that sort of thing, especially since he was in his fucking thirties. But Chris just shrugged.

“I was never that lucky, either,” he said. “But I guess it’s a plus. Means we have less to lose. Hey,” he added suddenly, “What’s your favourite book?”  
  
“What? Why?”  
  
“Just curious.”  
  
“What does it matter?” Ryan asked, suspiciously. 

“No need to be so secretive! I just think it says a lot about a person,” Chris said, so pleasantly that Ryan let his guard down, just a little.

“You’ll think it’s foolish,” he muttered, and looked away. “Hell, it _is_ foolish.”  
  
“Hey, mine’s _Lord of the Rings_ \- you can’t get nerdier than that.”  
  
“As a child I had a fondness for horror,” Ryan said, grudgingly. He felt like a porcupine, all bristled up trying to protect itself. “It’s possible that… Stephen King’s _IT_ particularly spoke to me.”  
  
Chris laughed, and Ryan flinched - but it wasn’t a mean laugh.

“Fan of clowns?” he asked. “No, seriously, that’s awesome.”

“Sort of,” Ryan said, and pressed his lips together. How could he express how it had felt in those long summer holidays to lie on his bed and escape into a world of misfit children finding family with one another? Saving the world, saving _themselves_ even when everyone told them they were broken, or unwanted, or _weird_. A belonging that he’d longed for but never been able to find. “I suppose it’s ironic now the whole world is a horror movie.”  
  
“I wonder if Stephen King is dead,” Chris said, very sadly.

Ryan didn’t like to think about that - the rest of the planet, their celebrities and stars all turned to dust. So many human lives lost, everything they used to know destroyed. Sometimes he forgot about it - the world seeming to close in until it was just their group in the woods.

He heard Barbara laugh again, and looked down. In the flickering firelight their faces glowed happily and he could almost imagine that this was just a regular camping trip. Young people falling in love out in the wilderness. 

_Happy couples don’t last long in horror movies_. 

Nothing was normal anymore - and he didn’t like the thought of getting too comfortable. Chris started writing again next to him, but there was something almost sinister about the sound of his pen against the page, recording each passing event like it was all just a story, too - a story building towards an ending that none of them knew yet…

-

-

-

**1x05: SINKING SHIP**

“Jones… Jones, are you there?”

Michael sprang upright, heart pounding. It was just past dawn and he’d been dozing between sleep and wakefulness, drifting in and out of nightmares. For a moment he thought he was still dreaming - but then he heard the crackle of a tinny voice from under the bed, and scrambled for the walkie-talkie.

“Brown!” he cried, hitting the button. “I’m here! Jesus fucking Christ, dude, where the fuck have you been?”  
  
He’d been trying to get hold of Brown for three days and the sheer relief of finally hearing his voice was overwhelming. He slumped on the floor.

“Hey.” There was a funny, strained note in Brown’s voice. “Good to hear you.”  
  
“I’ve been trying to get hold of you for days. Are you okay? What happened? I-”  
  
He broke off, uncertain. _I wanted to tell you how close we are_. He’d worked up the nerve, then lost it again when Brown disappeared - now, it took him a moment to gather his thoughts. But before he could say anything, Brown cut in.

“Hey, listen - I’m calling to say goodbye.”  
  
“Goodbye?” Michael’s heart dropped. “What do you mean?”  
  
“I’m in a bad spot, Jones.” Brown’s voice shook slightly, and Michael felt a cold chill spread through his stomach. “I - I don’t think I can get out.”  
  
“Brown, where are you?” Michael sat up straighter. His voice came out far more calmly than he expected - the world seemed to have moved into sharp focus. “What’s happening?”  
  
“I was trying to get through that train tunnel but I didn’t realise the far side was blocked off. Looks like a train went off the rails or something - I can’t get around it. I’m stuck in the tunnel, trapped in a utility closet. There’s so many biters outside. It won’t be long before they break the door down. I’m fucked.” His usual calm drawl broke just a little on the last word. Michael’s heart ached.

“Which end of the tunnel are you in?” he asked.

“What?”  
  
“North or south? Brown,” he said, shakily, “I know where you are. That’s what I wanted to tell you the last few days. I figured out on the map that you’re… you’re actually really close to my group. I can come and get you out of there.”  
  
There was a long, long silence. Then a broken laugh from the other end.

“Holy shit,” Brown said. “You’re not joking?”  
  
“No, I’m not.” He rose and scrambled over to the map. “Gladesdale Mountain Pass, right?”  
  
“That’s the one. North side.” Brown’s voice was filled with disbelief. “Fucking hell, you’re serious! We’re that close to each other?”  
  
“Apparently.” Michael’s laugh was almost hysterical. “But from the sound of it I don’t have long. Stay in touch, okay? I’m gonna come get you outta there.”  
  
“Oh my God. I don’t know what to say.”  
  
Michael realised he was smiling, but a lump had risen in his throat too.

“Look, Brown, I… I know you didn’t want to do this, that you think it’s safer alone, but… I’m coming for you, with my friends. Just hang tight, alright?”  
  
More than ever he wished he could see the other man’s face. It was hard to tell just from his voice what he was thinking - if he really was okay with this. If he was smiling, too. But all he had to go by was Brown’s shaky breathing.  
  
“Okay,” he whispered finally. “Thanks, Jones.”  
  
“Michael,” he said. “My name’s Michael.”  
  
There was silence from the other end, but Michael was too distracted to worry. Everything felt a little unreal and it took him a moment to gather himself before he realised, _shit, we’ve got no time to waste_. He shrugged on his jacket and raced out.

“Guys! _Guys_!”

Aaron and Barbara jumped where they’d been sitting by the campfire. Aaron’s arm fell from around her shoulders and Barbara looked flustered as she turned to him. Chris and Ryan emerged sleepily from their trailers, everyone looking around in alarm.

“What is it?” Barbara cried.

“My friend Brown.” He was breathing so heavily he could barely get the words out, staring around at them all. “He’s - he’s trapped in the mountain pass tunnel. We gotta get him out.”  
  
“Brown?” It took a moment, then realisation dawned on Barbara’s face. “Oh my God, he’s that close by?”

“Yeah. I didn’t realise until a week ago. He’s in trouble,” he repeated. “We have to save him.”

“We don’t know this man,” Ryan spoke up, and Michael gritted his teeth. God, he’d expected this and yet he still wanted to punch the motherfucker in the face. “That’s a day’s travel and the tunnel’s probably filled with biters. Not to mention there’s a horde nearby; we still don’t know how close.”  
  
“I don’t care,” Michael snapped, rounding on him. “We’re not just leaving him.”  
  
“Michael.” Barbara’s hand clasped his arm, turning him gently back towards her. “Calm down. Of course we’re saving him.” Her voice was calm and certain. “Geoff saved all of us, didn’t he? He’s your friend, and from what you told us he’s a good man and a strong survivor. The train tunnel isn’t too far if we drive. Who’s coming?”  
  
“We can’t take the bus and all our supplies. It’ll slow us down too much,” Michael said. He was still simmering and tense, but Barbara’s touch had re-focused him, and he could see in Aaron’s eyes that he was on-board too. “Barb, Aaron, both of you come along. Ryan, I’ll need you too. Out of all of us you’ll probably come up with the best way to unblock the tunnel.”  
  
Ryan hesitated, and Michael scowled. They didn’t have _time_ for him to throw another fucking tantrum about not wanting to leave camp - but after a moment, Ryan turned and glanced at _Chris_ , who was staring at him with bright eyes and a hopeful smile. He gave a small nod.

“Okay,” he said, and Michael relaxed a little.

“Chris,” he said, marching over and squeezing his shoulder, “You’ll be alone back here guarding the camp. Can you do that? We need someone taking care of our supplies.”  
  
“You can count on me!” Chris replied, and Michael nodded.

“Okay. Good. We leave in ten minutes.” He rushed to the bus to grab supplies, and the map. It felt like everything was happening so fast, like they were both running out of time yet he wasn’t ready for all this to happen. He felt shaky and stressed and when a hand closed on his shoulder, he jumped.

“Hey!” Barbara had followed him and she grabbed him by the shoulders, staring into his eyes. He stared back at her and after a few moments managed to calm down a little, her thumbs rubbing soothing circles against his arms. She gave a small smile. “We’re gonna get him back, okay?”  
  
“Okay.” His voice shook and he felt too vulnerable for a moment. “I know.”  
  
“Just breathe.” She squeezed his shoulders. “He’s your friend. He trusts you. We’ll find him together.”

_Together_ \- he wasn’t alone, and Brown wasn’t now either, and Michael took a deep breath and managed to nod.

\---

“What are you doing?”  
  
Miles whirled around guiltily where he’d been snooping in the supply shed, rummaging through the cardboard boxes that contained their meagre supplies of food. A disappointing selection of canned fish and stale biscuits was all that greeted him.

“Nothing,” he replied, unconvincingly.

Ellie raised her eyebrows where she was leaning in the doorframe, and Miles gave her his most charming grin. He could tell immediately it wasn’t working as she stalked into the room. Since joining this group he hadn’t had much of a chance to get to know people beyond a cursory introduction; they’d immediately been sent off into the woods to pick off walkers that’d started roaming around the area, and it’d kept everyone busy. More and more kept appearing and Miles felt worn thin.

What he _did_ know was that Ellie’s accent made her sound sophisticated as fuck, and for a tiny chick she was fucking intimidating. Like, she looked like Rapunzel from _Tangled_ but he also got the impression that she wouldn’t hesitate to brain him with a frying pan, if she had one at hand. 

“Looks to me like you were trying to raid the larder.”  
  
“ _Larder!_ I love it. But no, I wasn’t. Just _browsing_. You know when you get bored and just look in the fridge for no reason? I was just doing that.” He raised his hands as she stepped closer and she sighed and rolled her eyes.

“You’re hungry,” she said, and Miles shook his head - then, when her stare didn’t let up, shrugged apologetically.

“We’re all hungry,” he replied.

Ellie’s smile was sympathetic. She rummaged in her pocket and produced a slightly squashed bag of trail mix, holding it out to him.

“Here,” she whispered, and winked. “Part of my rations from ages ago that I’ve been saving to take on runs. But we can share a bit.”  
  
“I can’t take your emergency supplies,” he protested, and she raised an eyebrow.

“But you were happy to rob the communal ones. Don’t deny it - you’re a thief, Gavin told us all.”  
  
Miles’ shoulders slumped in defeat, but she just laughed.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell. But you can’t do things like that anymore - you know that, right? Being part of a group means we depend on everyone to do the right thing.”  
  
“Are all Gavin’s friends this nice, or is it just the British ones?” he asked, reaching for a handful of trail mix. He meant it as a joke, but a shadow flickered across Ellie’s face.

“You’d be surprised,” she muttered, and a slightly awkward silence fell. Miles munched away at the handful of nuts. He was hungry, he couldn’t deny it. He’d been a bit surprised just what a dismal state Gavin’s group was in. Like, they didn’t even have a _wall_. You’d think that’d be pretty high on the list of priorities.

“So how’d you survive, then?” he asked finally. “Like, I’m a fucking _criminal_ , we’ve all got some sort of skill that helped us get this far. Gavin’s got his martial arts mojo, his mate Dan was apparently in the army… you secretly something super badass?”  
  
“Hardly,” she scoffed. “I was a PA before all this. But I did do Krav Maga for five years, so don’t try anything.”  
  
“Holy shit. You _are_ a secret badass,” he said, with undisguised admiration, and her smile was a little more genuine.

There was a rap at the door, and Flynt poked his head in. He looked around and frowned as his eyes fell on the two of them.

“Miles,” he said. “There you are.”  
  
He sounded pissed, and Miles stared at him while guiltily trying to chew his mouthful as fast as possible. He didn’t know the guy very well but he’d seemed a bit sour the whole time they were here. Also, he just sort of _looked_ evil. He had sinister eyes.

“Uhh, present and accounted for? What’s up?” Miles asked, but Flynt just drummed his knuckles on the doorframe.

“Gavin’s holding a meeting. Wants everyone there, so hurry the fuck up.”  
  
He scowled at _Ellie_ , then left in a rush. Miles glanced between them in confusion.

“Am I missing something?” he demanded.

Ellie sighed heavily as she pushed off the wall and headed for the door.

“He’s cross that I was in here. He wanted to speak to you alone. Doubtless to try and convince you to turn to his side.”  
  
“I wasn’t aware there were sides to take,” he said - pleasantly enough, but unease stirred in his gut. He hadn’t signed up for some sort of civil war when he agreed to join this group. He’d seen enough shit in jail with people _taking sides_ that it wasn’t something he particularly wanted to get involved in again.

“There weren’t, until Flynt got it into his head that he’d make a better leader. He’s… not like Gavin. He wants to do shit like raid Michael’s group and drive everyone else out of the forest.”  
  
“But Michael’s _so_ lovely,” Miles said, with only a hint of sarcasm.

“The trouble is, our food situation’s got a lot of people on edge, and Gavin hasn’t found a solution yet. Flynt knows _I’d_ never turn on him.” Her gaze fixed on him, blue eyes intense. “Probably testing the waters with you.”  
  
“Well, I don’t like the smell of that,” Miles muttered, and Ellie glanced at him with another small smile.

Gavin had gathered everyone around one of the cars, where he’d spread a map out on the trunk. He glanced up as they arrived and gave a small smile. 

“Now that everyone’s here, let’s get right down to it. Edgar’s scouting run last night gave us the answers we need about where all these biters in the forest are coming from. The horde that was in the city and then up the mountainside is headed here and if we don’t do something about it, this whole place is gonna be overrun.”  
  
“The storms lately are driving them right towards us,” Edgar said. “They’re making their way down the highway and then trickling in from this road here. It’s one of the clearest hiking trails across the mountain.”

“We need to block it off,” Gavin said. “We reckon we can pen them in and then burn the lot of them.”

“Kill the whole horde?” Miles demanded, and grinned maniacally. It was the sort of chaotic, ruthless plan which appealed to his sense of adventure. “Oh hell yeah.”  
  
“It’s going to be dangerous. We’ll have to navigate the area pretty carefully. Edgar, you’ll come along since you know where the horde is. Dan, Flynt and Ellie, I need you along for muscle. Miles, I think your skills might come in useful too.”  
  
The small smile he shot him made Miles grin. It was nice to feel _wanted._

“Everyone else, continue clearing out the area around the camp,” Gavin said. “We can’t let this place get overrun.”  
  
“This place is a _shithole_ ,” Flynt exploded. He’d been standing off to the side, glowering. “There’s no food, no fucking shelter - Michael’s group has the prime spot in this forest. We’re living in the dirt like cavemen!”  
  
“Don’t cavemen live in caves?” Miles mused, and Flynt shot him a poisonous look.

“We need to either get better or get out of here.” He marched towards Gavin, who stared at him coldly, lips pressed together. “When the fuck are you gonna do something about this?”  
  
“Trust me, I want to leave as much as the rest of you, but we haven’t got enough supplies. We need food, ammo, a plan. Stopping the horde will buy us time to find _somewhere_ to go.”  
  
“Supplies,” Flynt scoffed. “Shame you keep giving them away.”  
  
He jabbed a finger at Gavin, but Dan stepped in and slapped his hand away.

“Keep your distance, _mate,”_ he said dangerously.

Flynt shot him a look so hateful that for a second Miles thought he was going to punch him. But he spun on his heel and marched off, muttering to himself. There was a very tense silence and Miles looked around at the others in the group - a tangle of ragged men and women who were giving off a distinctly unimpressed vibe. It wasn’t hard to tell that they weren’t happy about the current state of things. Flynt’s argument held appeal. But when Gavin waved a hand, they did disperse, grabbing their weapons and stalking off into the woods.

“Why’s Gavin keep that guy around?” Miles whispered to Ellie. “Seems like nothing but trouble.”  
  
“He’s one of our best fighters,” she murmured back. “Plus Gavin can’t exactly kick _anyone_ out. I’m going to get the car ready. You can ride with me.”  
  
She wandered off. His attention turned back to the others. Gavin was picking up the car keys from in front of him, but as Miles watched, Dan reached behind him and tapped him on the opposite shoulder. When he turned his head, Dan snatched the keys from his hand and dangled them from his finger.

“I’m driving,” he announced.

Gavin stared at him and then burst into confused giggles. It was strange - he’d looked stressed as fuck since Miles met him and for a second, that melted away. For a second - he was just a young man like the rest of them, with a mischievous smile and tired eyes. Dan laughed too, as Gavin swatted him on the shoulder.

“Cheeky bugger. I found the van.”  
  
“You haven’t got a license!” Dan protested.

“So? I’ve been driving since the world ended. Although I suppose it’s for the best. Wouldn’t want _you_ in charge of reading the map, would we?”  
  
“What’s that supposed to mean?”  
  
“You can’t even read a bloody McDonalds menu!”  
  
“Okay, _look_ , that layout was _very_ confusing!” 

Gavin laughed again. There were years of familiarity in the way they looked at each other, the teasing note in their voices, how Dan kept playfully shoving at his shoulder. Something close to jealousy welled in Miles’ chest - sharply, unexpectedly, like recognising a stranger from your childhood.

_Where’s Kyle right now? Is he even fucking alive? Did the fever get him, or the biters - or something else, before any of this?_

All the anger he’d felt at their last meeting was absent, now. Just a deep, lingering nostalgia. He wished his last memory of the other man wasn’t a fucking fight.

“If we’re going by who found the vehicles, I hope I’ll get to keep driving that big truck,” he said, sauntering forward. They both turned to him, and he didn’t miss the way Dan’s smile faded. 

_He doesn’t trust you, not really. Of course he doesn’t - what are you to him? Just an escaped criminal_. 

“You ready to go?” Gavin asked.

“Are _you?_ You look dead on your feet. You know we can handle this, if you want to stay back here. You look like you need a holiday.” He turned to Dan. “Doesn’t he look like he needs a holiday?”  
  
He wasn’t joking, although Dan’s scowl made it pretty clear he was taking it as mockery. Their walker situation meant Gavin hadn’t gotten much rest since getting back, and the hollows around his eyes were starting to look like sinkholes.

“You do look tired,” Edgar piped up - he was lingering to the side, _watching_ everything. It made Miles jump; he’d nearly forgotten the other man was there. “Miles is right - if you want to get some rest, the rest of us can deal with this by ourselves. It might be good for you to recharge a bit.”  
  
“I’m fine,” Gavin insisted, rubbing his hands over his face. “I’m not that tired. Flynt just has me stressed.”  
  
“You know you don’t needa keep that bastard around, right?” Miles said. “Like I know I just got here, but I can see the tension already. _You_ don’t have to do anything. I’ll fuck him up for you. I can do it discreetly. Anyone got a toothbrush? I’ll shank him next time he goes to piss.”  
  
They were all staring at him in horror and he raised his hands.

“Hey, just saying! It’s an option.”  
  
“It is _not_ an option,” Gavin hissed. “Don’t you bloody-”  
  
“Look, I’m not gonna _do it_ unless you tell me to. At your command,” he gave an exaggerated, Shakespearean sort of bow, “I’m your knife, dude, just point me at your enemies whenever.”  
  
Gavin and Dan were both staring at him in confusion. After a moment Edgar burst into a fit of laughter.

“This guy’s a fucking crack-up,” he declared. “I like him.”  
  
Miles clicked his tongue and pointed finger guns at him, and then internally cringed at himself so hard he thought he might’ve strained something. Dan rolled his eyes and elbowed past him on the way to the cars.

“You’re terrible,” he said.

“But I’m terrible _on your side_!” Miles called after him. “What, do I need to fake the accent to be trusted?”  
  
“Just keep making yourself useful,” Gavin assured him, with a small smile. He jogged past him to Dan’s side, nudging his arm against his friend’s. Dan looked down at him with a small smile. 

Miles stared after them. He felt another pang of longing and swallowed it down. _You’re still new. Give it time. Ellie seems nice - Edgar looks alright, too - you wanted a place to fit in. This could be it. Gavin let you in, didn’t he?_

_Just show them you’re worth the effort._

\---

As focused as he was on rescuing Brown, Michael wasn’t so distracted that he didn’t notice the blatant tension between Aaron and Barbara. It wasn’t even ‘we actually fucked’ tension - things apparently hadn’t gone _that_ far yet - it was more ‘we’re into each other but no one’s admitting it yet’ tension.

Barbara was apparently the shyest person in the world. She kept looking at Aaron during the drive over, and blushing when she got caught. Sidling close to him, then looking away if he turned to her. Opening her mouth like she wanted to say something, but not going through with it. Aaron just smiled fondly each time, clearly waiting until after this job was done to make a move.

Once Michael might’ve been annoyed at them for being distracted - now he could’ve laughed. It was cute, in its own way.

They’d been driving for half the day when they stopped to consult the map and stretch their legs. Ryan had been quiet as always the whole way here; Michael was wondering what was up with him. He’d been more withdrawn since Michael took him out into the city. That’d been weeks ago. Now, he loped off with Aaron to go pee somewhere in the trees. Michael caught Barbara watching them leave.

“So, you and Aaron, huh?” he said, leaning back against the car and laughing when her cheeks turned bright red.

“Nothing’s going on!” she cried.

“Yeah, ‘nothing,’” he teased.

“What?” she demanded, and elbowed him furiously until he squirmed and doubled over. “He’s _nice_. We’re just getting to know each other better.”

“It’s okay, you know,” he said, catching her hand when she made to poke him again. “You’re allowed to have feelings. Just because the world’s dangerous doesn’t mean we’re not still fucking human.”  
  
Barbara froze. Something vulnerable passed across her face.

“It _is_ dangerous,” she admitted softly, and turned away, wrapping her arms around herself. “But also, dude, I’m the only girl in the group. I really like him, but I… I don’t want to just be his only choice.”  
  
Michael blinked a few times. He hadn’t thought about it like that - suddenly he felt guilty and couldn’t quite place why.

“Aaron’s not an asshole,” he said gently. “I’m sure it’s not like that. Besides, you don’t see the rest of us making a move on you.”  
  
“Yeah, but the rest of you guys are… well, _you.”  
  
_ “What’s that supposed to mean?” he laughed, indignantly. 

“Chris is _Chris_ ,” Barbara pointed out, “And I’m pretty sure Ryan feels no human emotion, and aren’t you into dudes?”  
  
“I’m bi, actually. I’m sure you’re not just his last resort,” Michael assured her. “But if you’re that worried, why don’t you talk to him about it?”  
  
Her face turned even redder.

“You’re the last person who should be lecturing me about _sharing_ and _communication_ ,” she chided, but he could hear the waver in her voice. He stepped closer and squeezed her arm.

“Hey,” he said. “He’d be an idiot not to like you. You’re brave, and kind, and like a master of puns.”  
  
“You’d think that’d put him off,” she laughed, but looked a little more relaxed.

“You’ve got no reason to be worried,” Michael insisted. “Trust me.”  
  
She smiled uncertainly, but nodded. 

“What about you? Nervous about meeting your friend in person?”  
  
Michael froze. To be honest, he _was_. He’d been trying not to think about it, but he was feeling very, very fucking insecure, actually. The two of them had spent hours talking, but he was still worried about finally seeing him. What if Brown was expecting someone… well, someone taller? And better looking? _Not that that fucking matters_ \- but he knew he could be… _grating_ in person. Seeing someone face-to-face was always different. 

“A bit,” he admitted grudgingly.

“You’ll be fine.” She reached out and pressed his wrist. “Sounds like you guys are really close, so there should be nothing to worry about.”  
  
_Yeah,_ Michael thought, _but I’ve gotta impress him enough to try and get him to stay. That’s the problem. Especially since he’s some sort of rooftop sniper badass._

“You’re swooping in to his rescue like a dashing hero, after all!”

“Okay, okay, stop. God.”  
  
She giggled and he playfully elbowed her. The others emerged from the trees, and they straightened up - but Aaron was looking away from them, down the road. He frowned and pointed.

“There’s a car coming.”

They all froze, spinning around with weapons raised. Ryan inched back behind the rest of them, clutching his baseball bat in front of him. But the van that appeared down the road was familiar, and Michael relaxed as it pulled up alongside them and Gavin’s face popped out the window.

“Hello there!” he cried.  

It was… strange not being annoyed at the sight of him. Michael had been so distracted with trying to contact Brown that he hadn’t given the other group much thought. But he recalled, now, the understanding they’d come to, and if anything it was _nice_ being on good terms with each other. It was like having friendly neighbours.

Gavin looked nervous, like he wasn’t sure if Michael’s change of heart from last time had stuck - but when Michael smiled, he grinned back.

“Hey,” Michael replied, going over to the window and resting his arm just above it so he could lean in and talk to him. “Where are you lot off to?”  
  
A second car pulled up before Gavin could answer. A woman was already leaping out of the passenger side, hand on her knife and gaze fixed on Michael threateningly - but she relaxed when he turned and she saw his face.

“Ellie, it’s fine!” Gavin called. “It’s just Michael.”

“Sorry, I didn’t recognise you for a second. Haven’t seen that one before.” She nodded sheepishly at Ryan, who stared back in bemusement, then clambered back into the car. Behind the wheel, Miles honked the horn and waved furiously. Michael rolled his eyes and turned back to Gavin.

“Okay, seriously, are you just collecting every British person who survived the apocalypse or what? I’m serious, how fucking _many_ are there in your group?”  
  
Gavin let out a squeaky, flustered laugh.

“I promise this is all of us,” he said. “You guys been swarmed with biters lately?”  
  
“Our traps have picked up about a twenty percent increase, yes,” Ryan contributed.

“They’re coming from that horde. It’s on its way here,” Gavin said. Michael’s smile faded and their eyes met intently for a moment. “We’re headed out to block the road and then hopefully set the whole lot on fire. Want to help out?”  
  
“As fantastic as that sounds, we’re actually in a rush.” Michael fancied Gavin looked a bit disappointed. He swallowed. “My friend Brown’s pinned down by biters in the Gladesdale tunnel.”  
  
“Oh my God. You’re off to save him.”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“That’s so _exciting_ , Michael!” Gavin cried gleefully, practically bouncing in his seat. “Let me know how it goes.”  
  
“Will do,” Michael sighed, and then, when Gavin didn’t stop snickering, “Jesus Christ.”

“What?”  
  
“You’re ridiculous.”  
  
“Because I’m happy you’re finally meeting your walkie-talkie buddy? Michael, this is a momentous occasion!”

“Yeah, you’re _too_ happy,” Michael grumbled, though he couldn’t help his smile. “You’re happier than you’ve got any right to be. Don’t get killed out there, alright?”  
  
“You too,” Gavin said, and Michael patted the car door before backing off. Barbara waved as they drove off; Gavin leaned out the window to wave back at her. Michael felt oddly fond of the other group as the cars vanished down the road.

_I wonder what Brown will think of them_ , he thought, and felt another thrill at the idea that the other man would get to meet them soon enough. If this all went well, at least.

“I didn’t get to squeeze a pun into that conversation,” Barbara said sadly.

“What a disa-puntment,” Aaron replied, and Barbara’s jaw dropped. He winked before turning back to the car, and Michael had to laugh, shaking his head.

“That was like a six out of ten,” he said.

‘ _He’s perfect,’_ Barbara mouthed back, and Michael rolled his eyes. His spirits had lifted, though, as they continued on their way. Everything seemed to be falling into its right place.

\---

“You seemed jolly back there,” Dan commented.

“Jolly?” Gavin asked, glancing across at him. As the road turned around the slope of the mountain, it was cast into shadow, the steep hill and tall trees blocking out the sunlight. “Whatcha mean?”  
  
“Just - happy. All buddy-buddy with him.”  
  
“So?” Gavin asked, unduly flustered. There was a funny, pointed note in Dan’s voice. Not quite accusing but like he was trying to get at something. “I told you, we got closer when we were stuck travelling back from Gladesdale together. We understand each other better now.”  
  
“Yeah?” Dan prompted, and Gavin scowled.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to get at. I like him; he’s a decent bloke. And I guess I want him to like me too.” He looked away, a little embarrassed. “He just seems so confident. I admire that. And he saved my life back there. He has his faults but he’s a good leader - his group seems really happy with him.”  
  
“Sounds like someone has a crush,” Edgar piped up, from where he was lounging in the backseat. Gavin glanced at him in the rear-view mirror; Edgar had leaned forward, teasingly, a glimmer in his eyes. “Big, strong, handsome Michael, huh?”  
  
“He’s hardly big,” Dan snorted, and then glanced at Edgar. He opened his mouth and Gavin just _knew_ he was about to blurt out some of the _very personal_ information that Gavin had divulged to him _in secret_ about their brief fling _,_ and quickly jumped in.

“Shut up,” he said - Edgar was just being a dick, he knew that, but he still felt more embarrassed than he liked. He reached back and smacked Edgar’s hand when he saw it snaking around the seat to poke him. “Don’t get jealous.”  
  
Edgar stuck his tongue out and laughed.

“Just worried, Gavin dear. Michael’s way of doing things is pretty intense, so it concerns me that you think he’s a good leader. Can’t have him corrupting you, can we now?”  
  
“You don’t need to worry about that,” Gavin said, but Dan must have sensed his hesitation.

“Don’t let Flynt get to you, B,” he said. “You’re a good leader too. You’re the one holding things together here.”  
  
He reached out and squeezed Gavin’s arm. Gavin gave a small smile, but looked away, feeling too vulnerable suddenly. He was exhausted and worried and felt like everything was falling apart around him. If it wasn’t for Dan on his side, he had a sneaking suspicion that people might’ve mutinied a long time ago.

“Stop the car!” Edgar cried suddenly, and Dan brought the van to a screeching halt. They both looked around frantically, but nothing seemed out of place.

“What is it?” Gavin demanded.

“Out there.” Edgar pointed out the window and Gavin noticed the top of a roof, just visible through the trees on the side of the mountain. “There’s a house. I saw it when I was scouting last night but I was in such a rush I didn’t stop to check it out. We should look inside. There might be supplies.”  
  
“Or it might make a good new base,” Gavin said, his eyes lighting up.

The others had stopped behind them and Edgar jogged over to explain what they were doing. Gavin left them to it, walking forward and stepping through the trees.

It was a big damn house, he realised - positioned high enough up the slope that it would have an amazing view down the mountainside. Probably some rich person’s holiday mansion. There were no cars in the driveway and no lights on. By all accounts it looked deserted, unless there were dead trapped inside. A chill ran down his spine as he looked over the dark windows. There was something eerily quiet about the whole place - the thick trees that closed in around the garden from all sides, the dark shade that hung over the building. 

“Now that’s some prime real estate,” Miles said behind him, and Gavin jumped, then laughed a bit hysterically. He’d never been so glad to hear the other man’s smart-arse voice.

“Miles,” he said, “Can you get us in without too much noise?”  
  
“You got it.”  
  
He headed up the drive to the front door. Gavin met Dan’s eyes and the other man smiled before gesturing for the others to sweep the yard with him. Gavin walked up to Miles, who was squatting in front of the doors and had pulled a makeshift lock-pick set from his pocket. His tongue was out in concentration as he worked, and Gavin crouched next to him.

“What you said before about Flynt…”  
  
Miles paused and looked up at him, his dark eyes intent.

“I was joking,” he said firmly. “Well, half-joking. If you asked me to, I’d do it in a heartbeat, but not before then. Gavin, I’m not gonna do anything to compromise this group, but I also don’t know the others that well. My loyalty’s yours.”  
  
“Why?” Gavin asked. “You don’t owe me.”  
  
“You took me in. Haven’t had much of that in life. I owe you plenty.”  
  
Gavin looked down.

“I guess it’s hard for me to understand why you’re so devoted to this. I’m not ungrateful, it’s just - hard to trust. I know that sounds stupid since they all think I trust too _easily_ but-”  
  
“Relax, Gav.” Miles reached out and jostled his shoulder. “I get it. Look, I’ve… I’ve been mixed up in a lot of shit before. I’ve seen gangs and crews where the leader earns his people’s respect through fear and intimidation. Loyalty’s a big thing but it’s not for the right reason. But with you… it’s different. You care about your people, I can tell. Your group - I’m talking Team English, by the way, not that group of sour-faced bitches back at the campsite - they’re tight. I’ve had few friends in my life, but I’m no idiot, I can tell that the best way to survive this new world is by sticking together. I want in and you’re the person who extended the invitation even when Michael wanted to leave me to die. So I do owe you. Trust me, I want to be here.”  
  
Gavin stared at him. It was a… very strange speech, and he wasn’t quite sure how he felt about the implication that there was a division between his inner-circle and the rest of the group, but he could tell the other man meant it. He took a shaky breath and nodded, and Miles grinned at him before turning back to his work.

“All clear,” Dan said, returning with the others by his side. “No biters.”  
  
The door opened with a soft click, and Miles swung it open.

It was brighter inside than Gavin had expected. The curtains were all pulled open and natural light permeated every room. The first thing he noticed as they stepped inside was that it didn’t smell bad. Most houses they entered to scavenge were thick with the odour of rotting flesh and infection, but it was conspicuously absent here. The inside was as luxurious as the exterior, with plush carpets and clean white walls and expensive looking furniture. An expansive entrance hall led into a living room with the biggest TV Gavin had ever seen.

“Holy shit, is that a curved screen?” Dan asked. “Oh my God, B, they have FIFA. Remember how much we used to play that?”  
  
“Don’t remind me,” Gavin groaned. “Not like there’s electricity now anyway.”  
  
“This place is a gold mine,” Flynt called, from where he and Edgar had ventured into the kitchen. “Holy shit, there’s so much _food_ here! Not to mention it’s in a good spot to defend. We have to move in here.”  
  
Gavin stared around. The house was so quiet that he doubted there were biters trapped inside - but a moment later, Ellie was tugging at his sleeve.

“Gav,” she whispered, “I think someone’s living here.”  
  
He turned and realised she was pointing into the next room, a dining room. Following her to the doorway, he frowned. Sure enough, there were dirty clothes slung over the chairs, a backpack on the floor, used plates on the table… opened water bottles and food packaging lay scattered on the floor. He walked forward and touched one of the plates. The food remnants were moist and clearly recent.

“You’re right,” he said, and called out, “Hello?”  
  
“No cars in the driveway - they must be out scavenging. Gavin, those are kids’ clothes,” Ellie said, picking up one of the jackets.

Gavin’s heart sank. He turned to find Dan lingering in the doorway, looking torn. But the decision wasn’t hard for him to make.

“Guys,” he said, marching back into the kitchen. Edgar and Miles looked up guiltily; they’d broken into a box of cornflakes and were stuffing their faces by the handful. “Someone’s already using this house. They’re not in right now but there’s clothes and food in the other room. It’s a family. We can’t raid this place.”

Edgar slowly put down the cereal box. A low growl had Gavin turning to see Flynt, staring at him thunderously.

“You’re really just gonna leave this shit here,” he said. “When our people are _starving_ -”  
  
“That’s not what I said,” Gavin said calmly. “Our goal isn’t to steal these people’s things, it’s to work _with_ them. Let’s continue on, take care of the horde, and on the way back see if they’ve returned. When they do, we’ll talk to them. If they have children they’ll want more protection. We can join groups and share resources.”  
  
“And if they never return? You don’t know _what_ happened to them! It’s not stealing if they just left this place unguarded!” Flynt cried.

“Um,” Miles piped up, raising a hand, “As the resident expert thief and the guy who picked the lock on the door, I should say that _technically_ it is stealing, even if there are no laws anymore.”  
  
“We’re not just leaving this place,” Gavin said, stepping towards Flynt and keeping his voice as calm as possible. “I promise, we’re going to talk to them - but we can’t just take all their things while they’re not here.”  
  
“I can’t believe you,” Flynt said, shaking his head. “You think you’re so fucking perfect but you’re _killing_ us. Not the biters, not this world. _You_.”  
  
“That’s going a bit far,” Gavin began calmly, but Flynt’s eyes were blazing and Gavin realised with a sinking feeling that he wouldn’t be reasoned with.

“Stand down,” Flynt ordered.

“What?”  
  
“Stand down as leader. You don’t know what the fuck you’re doing. You’re not even qualified to be in charge. You’re just a fucking air hostess.”  
  
“Flight attendant,” Gavin corrected quietly, but Flynt was riled up now. He turned and grabbed a packet of biscuits from the shelf beside him, stuffing it into his coat pocket. Then a bag of dried fruits, and another, and another. “Stop that!”  
  
“Make me,” Flynt sneered. “We’re _taking_ these things. We _need_ them.”  
  
“Flynt,” Edgar spoke up, quietly. He was inching his way around the edge of the room, his eyes fixed on the other man. “I understand your point of view, but this isn’t the way to deal with it. Let Gavin do his thing.”  
  
“He’s done his _thing_ for long enough,” Flynt snapped. He reached for another packet and Gavin grabbed his wrist. The next thing he knew there was a fist flying at him, and then he was flat on his back with a bleeding nose and the world spinning around him. Flynt straddled him, fist drawing back again, but Gavin instinctively scooted down under him and brought his knee up to hit him square in the balls. Flynt toppled off him with a groan and Gavin hit him again in the ear before staggering to his feet.

Dan was already lunging forward, but Gavin held up a hand to stop him.

“Don’t!” he cried, and reached up to wipe blood from his nose. It wasn’t broken, but it hurt like fuck. The sound of breaking glass made them all spin around - Miles had smashed a wine glass against the edge of the counter and was brandishing the sharp stem.

“Want me to shank a bitch?” he cried. “‘cause I’ll shank a bitch!”  
  
“Miles, that is _not_ helping,” Gavin snapped.

Flynt had rolled onto his back. He got up, eyes blazing, but paused - Ellie, Edgar and Dan had him surrounded, all of them looking deeply unimpressed.

“Gavin,” Dan said quietly, “What do you want to do here?”  
  
Gavin closed his eyes for a second. He wanted to calm down and _breathe_ but he couldn’t. His heart was pounding so fast that he felt dizzy, and everything hurt, and it felt like time was slipping through his fingers like sand. He didn’t know what to do. If Michael was here, he thought hysterically, he’d know in an instant.

“Go home,” he ordered finally.

“What?” Dan asked.

“Flynt, go back to camp. You need to cool off. I don’t think you should be around the rest of us right now. You’re not kicked out but we need to have a serious talk about this - but this isn’t the time. Our priority is dealing with this horde and finding the people who live in this house, and I can’t do that if you’re questioning my authority all the time.”  
  
Flynt glowered at him, and Gavin stared back coldly. He knew his face was blank and hard but he felt like everyone must be able to see his hands shaking.

Dan was staring at him worriedly and Gavin could tell he thought Flynt was getting off too lightly - but what were they going to do? Shoot him? Tie him up? Kick him out? None of those were options to him. 

Flynt stepped forward, and for a second, Gavin thought he was going to spit in his face. But he just gave a tight nod, and strode out of the house. A few moments later the door slammed behind him, and Gavin slumped back against the counter.

“You okay?” Dan asked, walking to his side. Gavin nodded, but he could feel everyone’s eyes on him and he forced himself to take a deep breath.

“Let’s just hurry up and get this job finished. We’re getting close to the horde. Let’s split up to pen them in. Miles, Edgar, you take that smaller road to the east and block it off. Ellie, Dan and I will go west to the main road. We’ll reconvene afterwards to burn them.”  
  
“Got it, boss,” Miles said quietly, and Gavin felt an abrupt, grateful pang for how cooperative he was being. The others trooped out, leaving him and Dan in the kitchen. Dan was already pouring water onto a tissue; he passed it to Gavin, who wiped his face with it.

“He can’t stay,” Dan said grimly. “Let me deal with it.”  
  
“I don’t need you to fight my battles,” Gavin began, but Dan shook his head.

“You know you don’t need to prove shit to anyone, right?” he said - Gavin started to argue, but Dan raised a hand to stop him. “Gavin, you’ve done that a hundred times over. I know you’re strong - stronger than they all realise. But you weren’t alone then and you’re not alone now and I hope to God you know that it doesn’t make you weak to ask for help. Let me deal with this for you. Please.”  
  
Gavin bit his lip. He looked away, keeping pressure on his nose. He could taste the blood, salty and metallic. It made him feel sick.

After a moment he felt Dan’s hand on his shoulder. He couldn’t stop his flinch, but Dan didn’t pull away, just kept it there; a warm, reassuring presence.

“When we get back to camp we’ll discuss it,” Gavin whispered. “Maybe we can talk to him together.”  
  
“You’ve given him too many chances already. Some people you just can’t reason with,” Dan said. “Don’t let him push you around.”  
  
Gavin nodded.

“Thanks, B,” he whispered, and Dan smiled, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and tugging him to the door.

\---

“Why’d you stop?” Miles asked. 

Edgar had driven back down the road only to pull around the corner of the hill and keep the car idling. He was staring out the windscreen, fingers drumming against the wheel.

_What’s with this guy?_

Edgar was impossible to figure out; he didn’t have the same passion as Gavin or even Ellie. Just a sort of smug calmness, the confidence that came with people who were naturally good looking and knew it, and a way of carrying himself that reminded Miles of all the smooth-talking white collar criminals he’d encountered.

“Just wait,” he said vaguely. Miles frowned, but a moment later the others’ van was pulling out of the driveway and heading off towards the horde. Edgar waited until they’d disappeared, then headed back up to the house and pulled into the driveway. 

“Okay,” he said, “Come on.”  
  
“What are you doing?” Miles demanded, but Edgar was already hopping out of the car and heading back inside. Miles scrambled after him, confused, and followed him into the kitchen where he shook open two shopping bags from his pack and started ransacking the cupboards. 

It took a moment to register. Then Miles surged forward and grabbed his arm.

“Hey!” he snapped. “Gavin said not to take that stuff.”  
  
“Gavin says a lot of things,” Edgar replied, pleasantly. “Real stand up guy, God bless him. But Flynt has a point, too - he just approaches things a bit too… aggressively. Bit of a blunt instrument, if you know what I mean.”  
  
“You’re going to take this food,” Miles said, and Edgar smiled.

“We need it, or we’ll starve. God knows who lives in this house. Gavin thinks the best of people, he assumes everyone will be happy to _share_. But why would they? They have children, you think they’ll want to be splitting their supplies with a group as big as ours? They’ll never agree to help us and Gavin wouldn’t dare force them to. But we can.”  
  
Miles had seen a lot of shit, met a lot of bad people, but something about this underhandedness was making him more uncomfortable than he’d been in a long time.

“Gavin’s going to find out,” he said through gritted teeth, “And he’s going to be angry.”  
  
“I’m a good liar,” Edgar said flippantly, shaking him off and continuing to pack. “I’ll tell him we found it somewhere else. I go scavenging alone a lot - he’ll believe it.”  
  
Miles hated to admit it, but Edgar was clearly quite an expert. He was leaving the food at the front of the pantry and the top of the boxes of supplies and only taking the things that were behind. At a glance it looked like the cupboard was still full. Until you went to get some food, you’d never realise it had been raided.

“And what if I tell him?” Miles challenged.

“Snitches get stitches, don’t they teach you that in jail?” Edgar replied.

“Are you threatening me?” Miles asked, straightening up, a chill running down his spine.

“I don’t need to.” Edgar turned to him. His smile was flat, his eyes cold. “Who do you think he’s going to believe? You - the criminal who’s been with us for less than a week - or me, who’s had his back since the start? He’ll think you took it and are trying to blame me. I’ve given him no reason to doubt my loyalty. He trusts me,” he stepped towards Miles, closer and closer until he could practically feel the other man’s breath against his face, “Enough that we’ve even slept together. Didn’t know that, did you?”  
  
Miles didn’t know what to say. After a moment Edgar chuckled and patted him on the chest.

“For your own good, Miles - don’t rock the boat. I know what I’m doing around here. I am gonna need to deal with Flynt somehow, though. Maybe we _should_ kill him. Would you help me with that? It’d do a world of good for Gavin to have that burden off his back.”  
  
Miles was silent, his mind racing, nervousness buzzing in his veins. There were too many politics at play here, too many complex allegiances going on under the surface. Things weren’t as simple as he’d thought.

“Come on, thief,” Edgar said, turning back to the cupboard. “Do what you’re good at.”  
  
“No,” Miles heard himself say, and took a step back, shoulders straightening. “I won’t be a part of this - whatever _this_ is.”  
  
“Suit yourself,” Edgar said, and smiled as he continued his work. Miles watched him, a dawning horror spreading over him.

_Jesus Christ, Gavin, what’s going on here?_ There was a cancer in this group and he didn’t like the look of things. But he didn’t know his place here, yet - still wasn’t sure what to do.

\---

“Fuck, that’s a lot of biters,” Michael hissed.

They’d stopped the car some distance away from the north end of the tunnel and had had to make their way closer on foot. Now they crouched at the top of a little ridge, hidden amongst the trees and looking down at the railway.

The train tracks led into the looming shape of the mountain, and the dark mouth of the tunnel gaped ahead of them. But a train had stopped halfway through and seemed to have come completely off the rails, angled in a way that stopped anything from getting in or out of the tunnel entrance. It seemed the train had been full of passengers, and they now milled around the exit - a good fifty of them, Michael would guess, if not more.

“Ryan?” he asked, turning to him. “What are you thinking?”  
  
Ryan’s face was pale, and Michael could see his eyes tracking each biter below them. His jaw was clenched so hard that Michael could see the tendons standing out in his neck.

“Theoretically,” he began slowly, “We don’t have the equipment to unblock the tunnel completely. What we can do is create a gap. I brought all the explosives I’ve made so far. If we plant them all in the right spot we _might_ be able to knock the train further off the tracks so that there’s an opening - enough for a human body to fit through. But then we’d have to lure the biters out of the tunnel. Firecrackers, gunshots, even flame should do the trick. If enough of them are drawn out, your friend might be able to make a run for it.”  
  
“That’s a risky plan,” Michael said, and Ryan glowered at him.

“Given the constraints on time and resources, it’s all we have! Unless you want to come up with something better.”  
  
“Chill, I’m just saying it’s dangerous,” Michael replied, and swallowed, looking down at the masses of biters below. Jesus fucking _Christ_ did he not want to go down there. But then he thought of Brown, trapped alone in the dark, and took a deep breath. “So where’s the right spot?”  
  
“Let me attempt to figure that out,” Ryan said, and whipped out his notebook. When Michael glanced over his shoulder he appeared to be doing _maths_ , and he recoiled in horror and pulled out his walkie-talkie instead.

“Brown? You holding up okay?”  
  
A pause. Then Brown’s voice whispered back, shakily.

“Yeah, I’m still here, but I’ve had to barricade the door with shelves and shit.” Sure enough, Michael could hear thuds and growls in the background. His stomach dropped.   
  
“Don’t worry, we’re literally right outside. We’re about to blow the train off the tracks so hopefully the noise will get them off your back.”  
  
“Holy fuck. Okay.”  
  
“We’re gonna try and draw as many biters out as possible, then you’ll have to make a run for it. How deep in the tunnel are you?”  
  
“Pretty close to the north side,” Brown replied. “So I can’t get out the other way.”  
  
“Shit. Okay, well, at least you won’t have far to run. I’ll try and let you know when they’re mostly out but it might be hard to tell from here.”  
  
“Okay,” Brown said. “Good luck, Michael.”  
  
Hearing him say his first name made Michael grin. It was stupid, it was such a small, pathetic thing - but he couldn’t help it.

“You too,” he whispered, and turned back to the others. Ryan was frowning at his page and nearby, Barbara and Aaron stood close together, staring down at the biters. After a moment Ryan looked up.

"It’s very hard to tell from this distance and I’m a chemist, not a physicist, but I _think_ about here should do it.” He pointed at a particular spot between two of the carriages, just before where the train had been derailed, and Michael nodded.

“Okay. Fuck, we’ll have to try and distract them. Aaron, Barb, can you two head off to the right and drop some firecrackers and start shooting?” He pressed his gun into her hand; Aaron already had the other. “When the biters move towards you, Ryan and I will run in and plant the bombs. Try get out of the way quickly.”  
  
“Okay,” Barbara said. She looked fucking terrified and Michael couldn’t blame her - they’d never directly put themselves in the path of so many biters before. He was scared, too, he just had it tamped down under his desperate urge to save Brown. But he saw Aaron reach out and squeeze her hand, and the two of them headed off down the ridge. _No going back now._

“You ready?” he asked, turning to Ryan. “If they get too close just brain ‘em.”  
  
“Easier said than done,” Ryan muttered. He looked ready to shit himself and Michael braced himself for arguments, or complaining, or for him to turn tail and run back to camp - but none came. Ryan just followed him as they headed down towards the train.

Michael was used to how biters smelled by now, but somehow it was still a shock to get close and get hit with the stench of festering corpses. These biters were particularly horrible; they hadn’t died from infection but from either the crash or being set upon by other undead, and their bodies were rent with wounds, throats torn out by hungry teeth, entrails hanging where stomachs had been ripped open. He could hear Ryan breathing heavily next to him.

“Wait,” he whispered, holding out a hand. Ryan stumbled to a stop. They were just behind the end of the train by now. Michael waited and a moment later he heard firecrackers popping from the bushes across the clearing - then gunshots.

The biters milling around the train turned and began lumbering towards the trees. Heart thumping, Michael darted out from behind cover and scooted along the side of the train, moving as quietly as possible towards the point they needed. He looked back over his shoulder.

Ryan stood frozen, clutching his bat. He hadn’t moved.

“Come _on_ ,” Michael hissed, beckoning desperately - Ryan’s eyes met his and for a moment Michael could only look helpless, almost _pleading_. Then Ryan shook himself, and he stumbled after him.

_Thank God,_ Michael thought.

The firecrackers were still going but he could only hear one gun firing. Aaron didn’t have many bullets left, he remembered. They reached the right spot and fumbled with the bombs.

“We need them to hit right there,” he said, pointing. “Don’t miss.”  
  
“I won’t,” Ryan snapped, and they lit the explosives and threw them, one after another, at the spot just under the carriage wheel.

Honestly, Michael’s hands were shaking so badly that he’d been worried about _his_ aim. But the bombs hit true and as soon as he’d hurled the last one, he grabbed Ryan’s arm and yanked him back.

“Come on, back, back-”  
  
They stumbled clear just as the explosion rang out. They weren’t big bombs but they still sent a burst of heat and light through the air, a shower of gravel spraying over the area. A horrible creak of metal twisting rang out, and then the train carriage toppled sideways with a _crash_ that shook the ground and made Michael cling to Ryan’s arm for balance.

Instantly, he could hear the biters in the mountain, and there were so many that a shiver of dread ran through his blood. It stirred a deep, primal fear inside him - a cacophony of hisses and shrieks that echoed through the space of the tunnel, like a chorus of devils in hell. One by one, their shambling forms emerged from the new gap - stumbling out of the darkness to join the ones out here.

The biters in the clearing had turned at the noise. Now, they began to lumber towards Ryan and Michael, and he felt a jolt of fear.

“Run!” he cried - they needed to get back up to the ridge - but he realised quickly that they’d made the mistake of throwing the bombs from too close to the train. They were trapped against its side now as more and more biters circled around them, pinning them against the carriage. _Fuck, fuck, we’ll have to fight our way out-_

He heard a whimper from behind him and turned to see Ryan, pressing himself as far back behind Michael as possible, his face white as a corpse.

“Come on,” Michael grunted, “We’ll fight our way out, I’ve done it before!”  
  
“There’s so many,” Ryan whispered.

“Michael! Ryan!” Barbara’s voice yelled, and he turned to see her and Aaron making their way towards the thinnest patch of biters. His blood ran cold - he’d thought the two of them would get to safety - but he could see the determination on their faces and knew they wouldn’t leave them. Aaron had his knife out and was already swinging at the ones around them; Barbara’s gun was still raised. She picked off the biters closest to them. “Come on!”  
  
“Let’s _go_ ,” Michael urged, and didn’t look back. He pulled out his machete and started hacking, but dear God, there were so _many_. His arm ached and each time one fell, another moved in to take its place - an endless stream, he realised, coming out from the tunnel to join the existing horde.

Barbara and Aaron had fought their way through to meet them, but biters had closed in behind them. They were surrounded once again.

“This isn’t good!” Michael yelled.

“No _shit_!” Barbara hissed, and looked around. “The train!”  
  
“What about it?” Michael cried.

“Let’s get inside! It’s our only chance!”  
  
Michael didn’t have to be told twice. He ran for the nearest carriage doors and tugged desperately at them. They were stuck on something and he had to yank with all his strength.

“Ryan, help me!” he shouted - with a whimper the other man came up and began to pull on the other side. Michael caught a flash of movement in his peripheral, got a whiff of dead flesh - he flinched back but Barbara was already thrusting her knife into the eye of the biter that’d been reaching for him.

“Quickly!” she cried - her face was spattered with blood, frightened blue eyes staring out from behind the gore. Michael turned and with a cry, heaved at the door with his full strength. Muscles straining, he felt them budge just a little - he jiggled them and finally he managed to work them into the right spot. One door slid open and he shoved at Ryan’s back.

“Get in, get in!” he cried.

Ryan scrambled into the dark carriage. Michael began to step after him when he heard a scream ring out behind him. His heart nearly stopped and he whirled around, a horrible dread flooding his entire body.

“Barb-?”

\---

Gavin had seen a few hordes now, but it still sent a chill down his spine every time. Something about the swarming masses of bodies, bumping limply against one another as they walked mindlessly, made him feel sick. They were still a fair distance away, shambling along the road towards the hill they stood on top of now. He swallowed, hard. _Maybe fifteen, twenty minutes away._

“Block the road,” he said, “Let’s go.”  
  
There were plenty of cars around them, just like Edgar had reported - left abandoned by the side of the road. Something had happened here to make everyone flee at once. There were empty bullet casings on the ground too, a lot of them, and one dead biter by the roadside was wearing a military jacket.

“We’re gonna need a fair few to completely block this part of the road,” Dan muttered. “Miles and Edgar better be doing their job.”

“I’m sure they are,” Gavin said, as he headed for one of the cars. Miles had given them a crash course in hotwiring vehicles, but most had been left unlocked and with the keys in the ignition, and those that hadn’t, Dan could roll across the road anyway. He and Ellie were already making their way to a big, black SUV when Gavin froze at a sound in the forest.

It’d sounded like a human cry - a woman’s scream - but so distant and muffled that he couldn’t quite tell. He paused, but it didn’t come again.

_A fox or bird?_

_But what if it isn’t?  
  
_ It nagged at him - he stood, eyes shut for a moment, and thought he heard another cry, but couldn’t tell. Uneasy, he turned to the others.

“I think I heard something in the forest,” he called.

“Gavin.” Dan looked up, something desperate in his face. “The horde’s coming. We don’t have time.”  
  
Gavin froze. Yet again everything seemed to hang in the balance - he knew, logically, he should just leave it. But then it rang out again - muffled, but definitely a human voice - and he knew he couldn’t leave it.

“Keep working, I’ll be quick!” he shouted, and jogged into the trees. He heard Dan shout his name, but he was already gone, pushing his way into the bushes.

The trees in this area were thick, but he spied a clearer area in the distance, and rushed towards it. A narrow side road that hadn’t been on their map wound out from further along the main highway where the horde was. A small car was trapped in the middle of a cluster of biters, a dozen or so, too many for it to move through. He could see from here that one of the windows was smashed and the biters’ arms were grasping for the people inside.

He could hear screaming and crying - high, reedy - _children_ , he realised with horror. He stumbled forward, gun rising, but it was too late. Just as he reached the edge of the road, he saw the windscreen smash and the biters fall onto it. The shrieks became the familiar, horrible scream of humans being torn apart, and he realised the people in the car had been grabbed and pulled towards the windows.

“No,” he gasped, and lifted his gun - but it was too late. He saw gore spatter the glass, saw - in grotesque flashes between the shifting masses of bodies - the tearing of flesh, and white dead eyes, and blood coming out in sprays.

He couldn’t move.

He’d seen people killed by biters before, especially at the beginning. But not like this - not so young - not so _close_ , and he felt the horror sear into his very soul. His hands shook and everything felt like it was moving in slow motion. Almost without thinking about it, he lifted the gun and began to fire - _bang, bang, bang_ , taking down three biters closest to the window. They crumpled, and he felt hot bile burn his throat as it only gave him a clearer look of the interior of the car - a young man half-hung from the window, dragged out until the broken glass slit his stomach open, throat torn out and chunks of hair ripped from his scalp.

Gavin gagged. The biters were turning to him, now, drawn by the gunfire - he tried to shoot again, but the gun clicked emptily.

_Fuck._

He stumbled back, but he felt clumsy in a way he hadn’t in years. The biters advancing on him seemed like an army, and even if he’d killed dozens over the last few months, he felt as suddenly terrified as he had been the first time. For a moment, sheer panic made him feel _lost_ , with no idea what to do.

“Gavin!”  
  
Ellie’s voice broke through his haze. The next thing he knew, her hand was on his arm, and she was dragging him back. 

“We need to go _now_ ,” she cried, and the panic in her voice made him snap back to attention a little. He turned to stumble after her, but they both froze at the sight of more and more biters emerging from the trees - they seemed to have materialised out of nowhere, drawn by the sound of gunfire and the smell of blood. _We’re too close to the horde._

“Shit,” Ellie hissed. “They’re getting in from the side road. Where the fuck are Edgar and Miles?”

She shot the closest biter, but they were surrounded and even as Gavin drew his knife - a mechanical motion, his hands trembling violently - he knew they couldn’t take them all on alone. Ellie seemed to make the same call. The next thing he knew, she was shoving him at the nearest tree.

“Get up, get _up_! _Go_ , Gavin! We can’t fight them all!”  
  
He grabbed a branch and swung himself up - then another, and another, moving on autopilot until he was out of reach. Ellie was scrambling up behind him and as he settled himself into the branches she swung herself up next to him. 

Below them, biters surrounded the tree trunk. He felt dizzy, like he might lose his balance any moment, and clung to the rough bark. He could still see the car - surrounded by a spreading pool of red. For a moment the world spun.

“Gavin!”

Ellie clutched his arm and he realised he was swaying. Then realised the whole _tree_ was swaying - it was thin, and the branch they were on felt dangerously fragile, like the whole thing could come down any minute. Ellie squeezed his wrist and he met her gaze. The look on his face made her eyes widen.

“Are you okay? What happened?” she demanded.

“Too late,” was all he could whisper, brokenly. “I was too late.”  
  
He felt spacey and unreal and sick. Where was Dan? Ellie was staring at him in concern and the whole tree was swaying like a ship on rough water, and he couldn’t look away from the car, where a small, white face was pressed against the cracked window, dead eyes staring directly at him-

\---

For a moment, Michael couldn’t process it.

The scream had come from Barbara, who stood frozen in horror with one hand over her mouth and her gun pointed uselessly aside-

And the biters - the biters were on Aaron, more than he could fight off. One clung to his back, arms wrapped around his shoulders, teeth latched into the flesh of his cheek, and as Michael watched it tore away from his face with a wrenching jerk that sent a heavy stream of blood flowing over him.

Aaron stood limply for a moment, shocked - then his own screams started, and as Michael watched another biter descended on his arm, and a third on his neck - dead bodies milling around him until he couldn’t get away even as he thrashed and jerked, like a fish caught on a dozen hooks.

Michael couldn’t breathe.

But then, as though he was on autopilot, some instinct kicked in. He rushed forward and his knife jerked in, out, _in, out, in-out_ of three skulls. The biters fell away and Aaron collapsed into his arms. He felt his shirt soak through with hot blood instantly.

“Inside!” he heard his voice yell - distant, underwater - “Get inside!”  
  
Barbara was still standing frozen, but as Michael hauled Aaron back towards the doors, he saw Ryan’s arm reach from the train carriage and grab her wrist, yanking her forcibly inside. He stumbled in as well with Aaron’s weight leaning on him, and as he collapsed to the floor, he saw Ryan rise and slam the train doors shut, sliding the lock closed.

Heavy fists descended on it immediately, rattling the doors, silhouettes of bloodied hands appearing against the small window. But Michael barely paid attention to them. He’d fallen with Aaron on top of him and all he could smell and feel was sticky blood all over him - beside him, Barbara crumpled.

“Oh, God,” she whispered, and when Michael looked over, her eyes were glazed and horrified. He’d never seen a look like that on her face, and it scared him. “Oh God, oh _God_.”  
  
Some stupid part of Michael was still thinking, _maybe we can save him_. Then he numbly rolled Aaron onto his back and oh, _Jesus._

There were deep bite marks, flesh ripped from his neck, his shoulder, more blood than Michael could begin to know how to deal with - worse than that, half his handsome face was torn away; Michael saw the glint of white teeth through the ripped remains of his cheek. Aaron’s eyes were hazy and unfocused, and as he gasped weakly, blood bubbled from his lips. His hands grasped uselessly until Michael caught one of them - his face contorted with pain.

Barbara sobbed behind him - wrenching noises like they were being torn from deep inside her, her hands pressed tightly against her mouth.

And Michael - Michael couldn’t move. He had no idea what to do, and suddenly he was back on that road, slippery with blood, smoke in the air, staring into a car filled with human ruins-

Aaron gurgled again, face twisting. 

“Michael,” Barbara gasped, “Do something, _please_ , do something-”  
  
Michael could only stare uselessly. And then Ryan came up by his side, his face tight and pale, shoulders stiff.

“Kill him,” he said.

“What?”

That jerked Michael out of his daze; his head whipped around and he saw Ryan staring down at Aaron with a face like a mask.

“You think he can survive that?” Each of Ryan’s words was clipped, like he was snapping it off unfinished. “Jesus fucking Christ. Plus he’s been _bitten_. Will you make him lie there suffering for hours?” He flung a trembling hand in Barbara’s direction. “Her gun still has bullets.”  
  
“Ryan, you’re a _sick fuck_ \- go to hell,” Michael spat. His whole body was shaking like a leaf.

“I’m the only one making _sense_ here!” Ryan cried, and his voice broke just enough that Michael knew he was scared, too.

Aaron grasped at Michael’s wrist with blood-sticky fingers. His eyes were white and terrified and filled with more pain than Michael could imagine. He thought, with a sudden flash, of the other man’s nervous smile the first time Michael had taught him to kill a biter, and for a moment he thought he was going to cry.

But Ryan was already pressing the gun in to his hand, and he knew what he had to do. He felt ill as he pressed it to Aaron’s head, watching his eyelids flutter shut. His hand shook and he forced himself to try and breathe. For all his posturing and posing - he wasn’t as tough as he liked to think.

Barbara shuffled closer and wordlessly pulled Aaron upright a little so she could cradle him in her lap. She was soaked with blood instantly, but didn’t seem to care - holding him close, stroking his hair.

“It’s okay,” she kept whispering. “It’s okay, it’s okay.”  
  
Michael had to angle the gun so there was no chance of hitting her. With Aaron’s eyes shut, it felt only a little easier.

“I’m so sorry,” he choked out.

It was an effort to pull the trigger. The gunshot made all of them jump - and then Aaron went limp, and Barbara started crying properly, hunched over his body. Michael dropped the gun and scooted back against the wall, holding his head in his hands, trying to drown out the sound of the biters outside.

_No, no, no-_

_This is your fault. You took them out to rescue Brown. It was your stupid fucking plan. What sort of leader are you? You can’t protect them, you never could. Geoff trusted you and look at this mess-_

“Pull yourself together.”  
  
He looked up to see Ryan standing above him and for a moment thought, spitefully, _Barbara was right. He really doesn’t have feelings_. But then Ryan crouched and Michael saw that his eyes were red-rimmed as well, his lips pressed together to keep from trembling. He reached out and jostled Michael’s knee. 

“We need to get out of here, first,” he continued. “ _She needs you_.”  
  
Michael looked up and the sight of Barbara’s shaking, hunched form made his heart clench. _Oh God - how will we tell Chris?_ It still wasn’t sinking in yet - the empty space that existed in everything now. 

Ryan was watching him expectantly and he pushed himself to his feet and staggered to her side.

“Barbara.” The brokenness in his own voice surprised even him. “Barbara, I’m sorry.”

She didn’t look up - but she let him pull her away from the body and into his arms. They embraced tightly, and for a moment they just stood - bodies pressed close against each other and tears soaking into each others’ shirts. With Barbara’s arms around him he felt a little less like letting go would make him fall apart.

Then she drew a shaking breath, and pulled back slightly.

“We can’t… we can’t even take him with us.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Michael repeated, shaking his head.

“It didn’t feel real with Geoff, you know. Maybe because we didn’t see it happen.” She looked at the body, hair hanging in her face like a shield - then up at him. There was something shattered in her eyes, some last shred of innocence lost. “It feels real now.”

Michael didn’t know what to say. He was saved by the crackle of the walkie-talkie and for a moment a flash of alarm hit him - _Brown? -_ but it was Chris’ voice that rang out.

“Uhhh, guys, are you there? Over.”  
  
Michael froze - but Ryan marched forward and snatched the walkie-talkie from him. He was glad. When Ryan spoke, his voice was tight but level.

“Chris, what’s going on?”  
  
“Oh, thank God.” Chris’ voice was shaky. “There’s biters in the wood, a lot of them. I think the horde’s headed here. They’re gonna overrun the place, the traps aren’t keeping them out. I… I don’t know what to do.”  
  
“Holy shit,” Michael whispered, squeezing his eyes shut. Like this wasn’t enough of a mess already. Ryan looked up and met his eyes, but Michael could only stare back helplessly. He was lost - no commands to give, no more authority left in him. 

“Don’t hole up in the trailers,” Ryan said finally. “You’ll get overrun. There’s no chance they’ll pass by?”

“No, I - I don’t think so.”  
  
“Then you have to get out of there. Take the bus and we’ll come meet you.”  
  
“Where?”  
  
“Gavin’s place,” Michael blurted out. The answer came to him instantly. “If the horde’s in the woods, they’re in trouble too. They should take care of you until we come.”  
  
“Okay, but please hurry because there’s a _lot_ of them and I - I don’t want to be alone out here. I think we all need to get the hell out of this place.”  
  
He fell silent and Michael bit his lip. Everything felt oddly unreal, like he was standing at the top of a tower of cards watching it slowly crumble away beneath him. The thought of Chris on his own out there was horrifying. But as Ryan lowered the walkie, Michael realised with a flash, _Brown’s still in the tunnel._

“We have to go,” Ryan said.

“Brown-”  
  
“We can’t wait for him,” Ryan snapped. “Chris is _waiting_ for us, and he’s just one man in a forest full of biters. Brown can get out on his own. We’ll start a fire and leave more firecrackers. They’ll be drawn out of the tunnel eventually.”  
  
“I…”  
  
“He can handle himself.” Ryan stepped forward angrily. “Didn’t you say he knew how to fight?”  
  
Michael hesitated. He knew what the selfish thing was - he knew what he _wanted_ to do. Brown was his friend since the start, and Chris was on the way to Gavin’s, right? He’d be fine. And Brown had helped him through a lot - Michael owed him.

But Brown could also survive on his own.

Chris was… well, he was _Chris_ , who’d never quite gotten the hang of killing biters. Chris, who hadn’t ventured out of the camp since this started because Michael wouldn’t let him. Because Michael thought he wasn’t ready. He didn’t know if Chris even knew _where_ Gavin’s camp was except on the map.

_Go to Chris or stay for Brown…_

_There’s a chance they could both make it on their own. There’s a chance neither of them could._

_You could stay by yourself. But no, you can’t leave Barb and Ryan - not in this state._

_[What will you do?](https://www.strawpoll.me/15337358) _

Barbara was staring up at him with wide eyes, waiting. Michael swallowed hard. There was no easy solution. 

_What would Gavin do?_

He thought he knew the answer, and with a sinking heart he grabbed the walkie.

“Brown?”  
  
“Yeah?” A vulnerable note in the other man’s voice that made Michael’s heart ache.

“I’m so sorry, dude, I - one of our group just got bit and… he’s _gone_ , now, and Chris is back at camp but he’s overrun by biters and we - we gotta go help him. We can’t stay. I -  I _want_ to, but Aaron’s dead and-” He broke off, choked. _Dead_. It almost hadn’t hit him until he said it aloud. “I’m about to set a fire to draw the biters out, but I don’t know how long it’ll take. There’s a gap in the tunnel big enough for you to get out of. A bunch of them have already left. Once you’re out, call me and I’ll tell you where we are.”  
  
There was a long pause. 

“Right,” Brown said finally.

Michael could hear the betrayal in his voice and felt sick at the thought that he felt like he was being abandoned.

“Please, be okay,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry, I - I don’t _want_ to go, but Chris is in big trouble. He can’t fight, not like you and I can.”  
  
“It’s fine, dude,” Brown said tightly. “The group comes first. I can take care of myself. Go.”  
  
“Stay safe,” Michael whispered.

They’d talk about this later. He was going to insist on it. He’d make sure Brown knew exactly why he’d done it, that he hadn’t _wanted_ to. But this whole situation was a living fucking nightmare, and he didn’t have time to dwell on his decision. He got up and ushered the others to the door between carriages. If they could exit via the back of the train they stood a better chance.

“Come on,” he said. His voice sounded hard and flat. Barbara wouldn’t stop looking back at Aaron, lying on the floor, and after a moment’s hesitation Michael stopped and walked back to him. He pulled off his parka and covered the body with it. Felt a sob swell in his throat and swallowed it down.

_Later. You can process this all later. You can drink the pain away and not sleep for days._

But for now, he pushed on, because they needed to survive. He needed to _make sure they survived._

\---

Something in the tree made a very ominous cracking noise, and Ellie gasped and clutched at it tighter. Gavin shook himself, forcing the fog out of his mind. He carefully swung himself off the branch and climbed a little way down the trunk.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Ellie hissed.

“That branch can’t hold both our weight,” he pointed out. “You’re smaller. I’m fine here.”  
  
He clutched the trunk tighter, but his grip was slippery with sweat and felt precarious. He looked down at the swarming bodies and felt sick-

Then he heard a loud whoop from down the road, and saw a burst of flame shoot through the trees. It incinerated some of the biters that were still huddled around the car; the ones by the tree turned and lumbered towards this new distraction.

A convertible shot down the road and pulled to a screeching halt. Miles stood up behind the wheel, brandishing a bloody _flamethrower._ He fired it again and the two biters closest to him crumpled to the ground. A furious honking of the horn made even more of them turn towards him.

“That’s right!” he roared. “Come to papa!”  
  
“Miles!” Gavin yelled. The sight of that car with the open roof was horrifying, made his blood run cold after what he’d seen. “What the hell are you doing? Where did you _get_ that?”  
  
Miles looked at the flamethrower and something guilty crossed his face.

“Uhhh, Edgar and I found it,” he said vaguely. “In a… tool shed. Look, you guys are clearly in shit deeper than the Mariana Trench, so how about I draw these guys away and you get the hell out of here? Dan and Edgar are waiting back there. The blockade didn’t work, so we need to _scram_.”  
  
“It didn’t work?” Gavin called back. 

“Nope. Turns out there are too many and they’re just pushing through the cars. Look, guys, you need to get out of here. I’ll lead them away from you.” Another biter got too close and he casually brained it with his axe.

“Come with us!” Ellie shouted, pained.

“There’s too many. I need to get them out of here first.” He shot another blast of fire and then sat down, starting the car up again. “I’m gonna loop around and try redirect the horde a bit. I’ll meet you back at camp!”  
  
“You can’t stay behind, there’s too many!” Gavin yelled.

“I can handle it!”  
  
“Miles-”  
  
“My two favourite Brits are stuck in a tree. Let me _do_ this. Stop trying to take away from my heroic sacrifice!” There was a tremor in his voice that Gavin barely picked up on. “Now hurry up while I give you this opening!”

With that, he blasted the horn again, turned the radio up loud, and drove off at breakneck speed. The biters shambled after him while Gavin watched in horror.

“He’s dead,” he said, shocked. “He’s risking himself for us. He’s _dead_.”  
  
Ellie didn’t reply, but her face was pale. But they didn’t have time to wait. As the majority of the biters wandered off, Gavin shimmied down the tree and jumped the last few metres. He landed on the last biter who was still clawing at the trunk and stabbed it through the head before stumbling upright. Ellie was climbing down too; he helped her to the ground and the two of them ran.

Everything had gone to shit so _fast_ that Gavin nearly couldn’t believe it. They broke back through the trees where he found Dan and Edgar already waiting in the van, beckoning them desperately through the window.

Gavin froze as he turned to look down the road. The biters had reached the blockade by now but just like Miles had said, it was doing _nothing_ to stop them. He hadn’t realised the sheer strength of the biters’ bodies - as the amount of them piled up against the cars, they pushed them out of the way and began trickling through. It was a bottleneck, but not one narrow enough to let them stop and try to kill them.

“Get in!” Dan yelled. He was behind the wheel, and Gavin scrambled into the backseat where Edgar was waiting, Ellie squeezing in after him. As soon as they slammed the door behind them, Dan took off.

“Where’s Miles?” he demanded, even as they drove away from the horde.

“Drawing them off,” Ellie replied.

“Fuck.” There was a grudging admiration in Dan’s voice. “He said he was going to, but I didn’t think he’d go through with it. Is he…”  
  
“I don’t know,” Gavin replied. “There’s a lot of them.”  
  
He couldn’t hear the blaring of the convertible’s horn anymore, and bit his lip. They’d barely known Miles but his fucking personality was so big that the thought of him _gone_ was unsettling. He felt ill, and put his head down.

“You alright?” Edgar asked next to him.

“What happened?” Dan added. “You ran off.”  
  
“There was a family stuck in a car, surrounded by biters. I heard them screaming. I was too late to help.”   
  
Saying it out loud, it felt a little unreal. Like it was someone else’s story he was telling.

“That’s not your fault,” Edgar supplied, calmly. “You tried. That’s what matters.”

_No it’s not. Trying doesn’t mean shit when human lives are at stake. It fucking matters for_ them _, doesn’t it?_

He didn’t say anything, just closed his eyes. He felt Edgar rub his back, and Ellie, on the other side, squeeze his hand - but none of it was any comfort. He didn’t know what to do.

“And the blockade didn’t even work,” he blurted out after a moment. “The horde’s still getting through. So we’ve done fuck all, haven’t we!”  
  
“You think they were the family from the house?” Edgar asked slowly.

“The house isn’t safe if the horde keeps heading this way,” Dan pointed out. He sounded alarmed and Gavin bit his lip. _It’s all falling apart._

“Let’s go back and decide where to evacuate to,” Edgar said. “We can’t stay here.”  
  
It was all happening too fast, and Gavin could barely breathe. He hadn’t had a proper panic attack in years, but now he could feel himself shutting down - the dread and adrenaline wouldn’t _stop_ , and his chest ached horribly, and he felt at once too aware of his pounding heart and yet somehow detached from his body, like something had shaken loose and was rattling around inside and he couldn’t set it right. He wanted Dan, but Dan was driving - he leaned against Edgar’s side instead. The other man mercifully didn’t comment, just kept an arm around him while he tried to remember how to breathe.

\---

They met Chris on the road just before the turn-off to Gavin’s campsite. He was waiting in the bus with their remaining supplies and three biters hammering at the doors. Michael ran forward and took care of them quickly, heart pounding; the relief he felt at finding him unharmed was instant and consuming-

But the look on Chris’ face when they all got out of the car and he saw that Aaron wasn’t with them broke Michael inside. His face crumpled and he started crying, nearly collapsing - Barbara rushed forward to catch him, arms running over him comfortingly, but the guilt was sick and heavy in Michael’s chest.

He stood back, nothing to say. Beside him, Ryan watched the two of them with an odd, strained expression. Michael wondered what was going through his head. He was pretty sure Ryan hadn’t killed any of the biters back there. He wanted to hate him - it would be easier than whatever he was feeling right now. 

But he couldn’t.

_Chris got out safe. That’s what matters._ But Brown still hadn’t contacted them, and Michael didn’t want to distract him by being the one to call.

“Let’s just get to Gavin’s camp,” Ryan muttered eventually, and Michael could only nod.

The sound of a car on the road made them all flinch. They whirled around, but Michael relaxed as he recognised the vehicle.

There was only one van rather than the three cars Gavin’s group had been in before. They pulled up and jumped out at the sight of Michael’s people lingering by the roadside. Something was wrong - Michael could tell instantly. Flynt and Miles were absent and Edgar had an arm around Gavin like he’d fall over without it. Dan leaned in and whispered something to him, and a second later he was the one to take charge, striding up to Michael, face creased and worried.

“What’s going on? You guys are leaving?”  
  
“Our camp’s overrun,” Michael said. His voice was flat, like the last gasp from a deflating balloon. “Yours might be, too. The horde got through.”  
  
“We know,” Dan replied. “We couldn’t stop it. The cars weren’t enough and there were too many side roads for them to split off into. Where’s Aaron?”  
  
Michael just shook his head. He saw Dan take a shaky breath.

“Well,” he said finally, “Come back with us. We’re evacuating and it - it might be better to all stick together.”  
  
Combining their groups? Right now that sounded like the best fucking idea Michael had ever heard. He nodded, and they followed the others down the trail towards the campsite. He fell back by Gavin’s side as they walked.

Edgar looked over, but Michael realised after a second it was _Ryan_ he was staring at. The other man’s jaw was set hard as he marched along - he didn’t seem happy, but this was the safest option for now.

“You okay?” Michael asked, poking Gavin’s arm.

Gavin shook his head.

“It’s all just _shit_ ,” he muttered.

“You can say that again,” Michael said.

Gavin pulled away a bit and Edgar let him go, speeding up to walk closer to Dan. Gavin looked around and bit his lip. Michael followed his gaze - Barbara was still consoling Chris, and Gavin made an aborted gesture like he wanted to go to them.

“Not yet,” Michael murmured, catching his arm. “Chris was really close to Aaron. Give them time.”  
  
Gavin nodded. There was something wrong with his eyes, Michael noticed, something shattered in them. It reminded him of _himself_ , oddly - of how he’d stared into the mirror, _before_ , sleepless and drunken and unable to stop replaying bloody, ghastly memories.

“This is something we’re gonna have to get used to,” Gavin whispered eventually. “But I don’t want to.”  
  
Michael didn’t know what to say to that, but it felt right to reach out and squeeze Gavin’s shoulder. After a moment Gavin reached up and pressed Michael’s wrist, gently. It was oddly comforting. For a second, it felt like everything might be… not okay, but _manageable_.

Then they stepped through the trees into Gavin’s campsite, and Michael’s stomach dropped.

Flynt was waiting for them, standing in front of the rest of Gavin’s people. He was holding a gun, and the rest of them might as well have been brandishing pitchforks and flaming torches - pistols, knives, a shovel, all with a look in their eyes that Michael didn’t like. They all froze, Gavin stiffening beside him.

Dan started to pull out his gun with a growl, but Flynt tutted and shook his head.

“You’re outnumbered, Gruchy,” he warned.

“Flynt, what the fuck is this?” Gavin hissed, elbowing his way forward beside Dan - but there was something lethargic in it, like the roar of an elderly, dying lion.

“I’m glad you asked,” Flynt mocked. “It’s a mutiny, if that wasn’t clear. I’ve spoken to the others and the majority vote is that I should be in charge. Michael,” he added, turning to him, his dark eyes glinting, “I am _so_ glad you could join us, because we’ve made the collective decision that anyone who isn’t with the group is against us. You didn’t happen to bring that lovely bus that was _meant_ to be ours, did you?”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Michael growled. Dread made his skin crawl - the biters were one thing, this was quite another.

“It means,” Flynt snapped, “That all of you are going to hand _everything_ over. Your guns, your supplies - and then you’re more than welcome to come with us and get out of here, as long as you agree to follow my rules. Or you can be left here with nothing.”  
  
“Flynt... “ Gavin began.

“Yes, Gavin? What are you gonna do?” Flynt stepped towards him, face twisting into an ugly sneer. “Talk me out of this? Reason with me? Is it gonna work like it’s _always_ worked for you? That’s right, it _hasn’t_.”  
  
Michael reached for his gun, but realised with a pang that he’d used the last bullets getting them off the train. So was the one that Ryan had picked up from Aaron, and Gavin hadn’t made a move for his. Flynt’s grin was steely and smug. He had them in a corner and he knew it.

Michael did not feel in control here. _Gavin_ didn’t look in control, either. He was hyper aware of the horde on the way here, and the fact that right now with Flynt standing there, and Gavin, and himself, and all the choices they’d made so far - he had no idea which way the cards were going to fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is the final one in this first 'series' of episodes! <3


	6. 1x06: Down Among The Dead Men

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Manual poll link: <https://www.strawpoll.me/15387661>

Long Ago. Before.

“You need to stop.”  
  
Michael looked up with a scowl as the glass was snatched from his hand. In one deft movement, Alex was placing it on the coffee table and sinking onto the couch next to him. He cupped Michael’s chin and gently turned his head to face him.

Even if his partner’s eyes were soft with concern, Michael couldn’t help his scowl. He felt grotesque. His mouth was rank with days of drink, eyes sore from lack of sleep, face itchy with stubble. He looked a mess and he didn’t want to see his own ghastly reflection in the other man’s eyes. He tried to turn away, but Alex’s hand fell to his shoulder.

“This can’t keep going on, Michael.”  
  
“What can’t?” Michael grunted, even as a sinking feeling started up in the pit of his stomach.

_“This_. The drinking. The nightmares. Spending all day either at home or in the bar. It’s not good for you. You’re stuck in a cycle and you need to get out of it.”  
  
“You want me to go look for another job?” Michael snapped. He tried to get up but Alex caught his hand and tugged him back down.

“No.” There was an unfamiliar note in his voice; fierce and almost rough. Usually he had the mildest temperament in the world, and the sudden change made Michael freeze. “I want you to get therapy.”

_Therapy_. The word struck Michael like a stone in the gut, knocked the wind out of him. He leaned back away from Alex’s hand - it was too much, suddenly. Too gentle. Too humiliating.

“Therapy?” He laughed, mockingly, harsh enough to make Alex flinch, but inside his heart was pounding like he was being chased. “I don’t need fucking therapy.”  
  
“Yes, you do.” Alex’s voice was patient, but hiding a tremble. Michael knew him well enough to tell. “What you saw… it’d change  anyone. You need help processing it - help I can’t give you. You refuse to talk about it-”  
  
“Of course I do,” Michael snapped. “Who wants to hear about that?”  
  
“You need to let it _out_.” Alex grabbed for his hand again, held it even as Michael sat limply. “You need professional help. Someone who knows how to pull you through it.”  
  
“I’m not the one who got fucking blown up,” Michael hissed. He reached for the glass again but it was too far along the table. “I’m not the one who lost my family. I’m just the idiot who let it happen.”  
  
“You feel guilty,” Alex said. “And you saw something terrible, something no one should have to see.”  
  
“And what, you think I’m fucked up, now?”  
  
“I do, actually,” Alex said, and Michael laughed again - hysterical, cruel - he rose from the couch and paced across the room. Alex watched him helplessly. He paused by the kitchen counter and gripped the edge until his knuckles turned white. The streaks of red in the marble suddenly looked too much like blood.

“Therapy is for broken people,” he spat.

“No, it’s not,” Alex said, and got up, stepping towards him. “There’s absolutely no shame in it. Michael - you realise what happened to you was a sort of _trauma-”_

“Where the fuck is this coming from? Doctor Google? You look up a bunch of shit and now you want me to-”  
  
“I want you to get _better_ , Michael.” Alex didn’t try to touch him this time, just stood a few metres back, watching.

“I’m fine,” Michael said, but his voice broke in the middle.

There was a long, tense silence. He could hear too much suddenly; the ticking of the clock on the wall, the rattle of one of their neighbours taking the bin out. Alex, breathing too heavily like he was trying not to cry.

“You’re not,” he whispered finally. “You’re not fine. You don’t _sleep_ , you can’t stop drinking - it’s haunting you, I can see it. You _know_ you’re lying to yourself. You know, Michael. And you think you’re the only one being affected by this?”  
  
He paused, sounding on the verge of tears. Michael’s heart throbbed, dully.

“You need _help_ ,” Alex repeated, desperately. “Sometimes you… you see things no one should ever have to. Things that mess you up. It’s not your fault, and it’s not a sign of weakness, but they’re _heavy_ , and you don’t have to carry them alone.”  


Michael looked away, shoulders hunched. Each breath seemed to take all his strength to suck in or out. He closed his eyes, but the second he did, it swam back in - the road, the smell, the screams.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said, shakily. “I just want to _forget_. Don’t bring this up again.”  
  
He marched out of the room, ignoring Alex’s shout behind him. His hands were shaking and his feet felt sticky just like they had that night. 

_He’s going to leave you,_ he thought, with a sense of resignation. The idea made him break a little inside, but it also felt inevitable - like the ending of all his nightmares. _He should. It’d be better for him. He doesn’t need this_.

He headed to their room and grabbed another bottle from the bed-stand before slumping down onto the floor. Eventually, it drowned it out, if only for a little while. If only until he woke up in the morning...

-

-

-

**1x06: DOWN AMONG THE DEAD MEN**

Night was coming, and as the sun sank between the trees, the evening sky turned a hellish red. Michael didn’t think he’d ever seen a look like the one in Flynt’s eyes before. Something feral and almost inhuman, like a cornered wolf.

Gavin’s shoulders were heaving.

_Scared,_ Michael realised. _He’s scared._

But after a moment Gavin seemed to gather himself. His back straightened, and when he spoke his voice was as calm and soothing as always - like he was trying to tame a wild horse.

“Flynt,” he said softly, “Think about what you’re doing here. Think about what you’re _making_ with this. This is a turning point - you have a choice. How we survive makes us who we are. Is this really the path you want to go down?”  
  
Flynt blinked, slowly. Then a teethy, mocking grin stretched across his lips.

“Listen to him. Our lord and saviour,” he sneered. “The turning point was when the dead rose up and started trying to fucking _eat_ us, Gavin! The _turning point_ was when the government, the army, the fucking CDC all fell and left us on our own!”  
  
“You don’t-”  
  
“ _You_ just don’t get it, do you?” He waved the gun and Gavin flinched.

“Flynt!” Dan barked, stepping forward. Michael knew he’d been in the army but until this moment it hadn’t quite hit him that the other man was a _soldier._ There was iron in his voice, and everyone’s eyes turned to him. “You can’t just demand Michael’s people give you their supplies. You can’t just _take over_. We’re not going to let you.”  
  
“Yeah, it’s not happening,” Michael snapped.

“With us,” Flynt repeated coldly, “Or against us. Do you really think I am not deadly serious about this?”  
  
“Put the gun down,” Dan ordered. He reached a hand out but Flynt didn’t budge - Dan’s eyes drifted to the people beyond him. “And all of you, listening to his shit? You might not like the way Gav does things, but what about me? It was the two of us, together, who got you here alive. Who’ve _kept_ you that way. And there’s no way in hell we’re just gonna roll over and let this asshole destroy everything we’ve built.”

Flynt’s gaze was planted squarely on Gavin. They stared at each other, some exchange passing between them that Michael couldn’t quite understand.

“You think,” Flynt said slowly, “That we’re all still living by fairytale rules. That if you’re a good person, and kind, and brave, and make the _right choices_ , then you get a happy ending - no matter how dark it gets along the way. But you’re wrong, Gavin. You’re so _fucking_ wrong. This is not that kind of story.”  
  
And he swung the gun up, and shot Dan in the head.

A scream. It took Michael a moment to realise it was Ellie. He staggered back, hands rising, as though stumbling from an explosion - and froze, unable to move even as shuddering tremors wracked his body. It was a gunshot like breaking glass - a gunshot like waking up with a start. Like something irreparable in the very fabric of the universe had just been torn in half.

Gavin crumpled like a paper doll.

He was silent, not a sound coming from his mouth as he fell forward on his hands and knees. Michael caught a glimpse of his face before his head hung down, and all he could see were his shell-shocked eyes. They looked nearly black, and there was something inhuman in them, too - like the eyes of a prey animal caught in a trap. He knelt there, frozen, in front of Dan’s collapsed form. It really hit Michael then, like a stab in the heart.

_Holy shit. No. This isn’t happening._

He couldn’t process it, because it- it wasn’t biters. It was one thing if it was _biters_ , but here, now, even Flynt looked a little stunned by his actions, by Dan’s body lying on the ground at his feet, by the blood sinking into the earth. Even his followers looked uneasy, glancing at one another and clutching their weapons, a few looking on the verge of tears.

_You need to take control, here_.

It hit Michael then - vaguely, like some objective fact - because Gavin was down, and Dan was down, and - and he looked back and saw Barbara with her hands pressed to her mouth and her eyes huge, tears rolling down her cheeks. Chris was clutching her arm tightly, and Ryan was cowering back with his hands raised to defend himself-

But he had nothing, nothing to even _begin_ dealing with this, and all he could do was stand there with his hand on his knife but no clue what he meant to do with it.

Flynt swallowed. For a moment, uncertainty flickered in his eyes - then he clenched his jaw. He swung the gun around, and on instinct Michael grabbed Barbara’s arm and shoved her behind him. But it wasn’t them Flynt was interested in, not yet at least. He stepped towards the others, ignoring Gavin like he was nothing but a piece of trash on the ground.

Edgar’s head was tilted back like there was a knife to his throat, face white and teeth clenched. Ellie was covering her mouth, too, and when the gun swung to point at her, she swallowed hard with a whimper.

“Your choice now, Ellie,” Flynt growled. “With us or against us?”

Ellie stared helplessly at him, her lip trembling. Her eyes widened when Flynt stepped towards her.

_Do something_ , Michael’s mind screamed - he stood frozen, arm still out to keep Barbara behind him. _Fucking do something, do something, no one else is around to take control here-_

He yanked out his knife and started forward - when suddenly there was a hissing roar, like gas rushing out of a pipe, and a burst of flames exploded next to Flynt. He flinched back as the wall of the tent beside him set alight - then the grass under his feet. The fire kept coming, sweeping in an arc that made Flynt stagger back to avoid being singed, a crackling line of flames between him and the others.

Michael spun around, and his breath caught in his throat.

Miles was striding from the darkness, cackling and honestly looking pretty fucking demonic with his face lit up by the glow of the fire - his cheeks spattered with blood and grime, a dark bruise around one eye. He was cradling a flamethrower in one arm and holding a gun in his free hand. As they watched, he fired it just over Flynt’s head and then pointed it at his group.

“Back off, asshole,” he spat.

Flynt started forward with a snarl - but Ryan was the one who moved suddenly, elbowing his way past the rest of them and hurling something from his pocket. The next thing Michael knew, the air had exploded into a thick cloud of black smoke.

The crowd staggered back, wheezing and choking, but Michael saw Flynt in front of him and acted on instinct. He took the chance to lunge forward and punch him in the face - Flynt fell, off balance, and Michael collapsed on top of him, wrenching the gun from his hand.

For a moment they tussled, blind and dazed - then Michael kicked out and felt his boot connect with the other man’s chest. He scrambled backwards, free of the smoke, heaving and choking. He felt like his lungs had dried up like sponges and no matter how much he tried to breathe, no air was seeping in. For a moment his head spun dizzily-

Then with a great, hacking cough, he managed to gasp in fresh air.  Everything was spinning as he looked up, vision blurred with tears.

“Go, go, go!” Miles was yelling. “Back to the truck! _Go!_ It’s back there!”  
  
The fire was spreading; he could feel its heat against his back. He staggered upright and spun around.

_Where is the fucker?_ He wanted to kill Flynt, he wanted to-

But he could see, as the others raced back towards the trees, that Barbara was still kneeling on the ground. She was tugging at Gavin’s arm.

“Gavin, get up,” she pleaded, “Get _up_.”

Gavin stayed hunched over Dan’s body, rocking back and forth - Barbara nearly fell on top of him as she futilely yanked at his shoulder. She looked up and her eyes met Michael’s - her face was streaked with tears and her eyes an angry red from the smoke.

“Help me,” she begged.

In an instant, Michael knew his first priority had to be getting them out of here. He stumbled forward and grabbed Gavin’s arm, pulling it over his shoulders, and looped his free arm around his waist. He lifted him bodily upright, dragging him away from Dan.

“No,” Gavin choked out, trying to push him away. “I can’t-”  
  
“I’m sorry, Gavin,” Michael croaked. It hurt to talk and he didn’t want to look down and catch a glimpse of Dan’s lifeless eyes. “I really am, but we have to _go_.”

He forced Gavin upright, half-carrying and half-dragging him even as he struggled. Barbara came up by his other side, trying to calm him down with soothing whispers and a hand stroking down his back - but he kept wriggling and thrashing.

It was no use. Michael was stronger and he hauled him out of there, even as his own eyes stung and burned and his breath came in painful, heaving sobs.

Miles was waiting for them, impatiently beckoning. Someone must have started after them, because as they got close he pointed the gun and fired it a few times over Michael’s shoulder. Then he slung the flamethrower across his back and moved to grab Gavin’s other arm, hurrying them along.

“Where the hell did you spring from?” Michael managed to ask.

“I’m having a bitch of a day,” Miles replied, sounding very strained, “I’ll tell you everything later!”

The others were waiting in the big truck they’d taken from the storage yard. Michael lifted Gavin into the back and scrambled in himself, Miles hopping in the front to drive. They jerked down the drive onto the main road and hauled ass away from the campsite. The sun was nearly set by now, and the darkness was a welcome escape. Behind them, Michael could see the bright glow of the fire.

“Where are we going?” he yelled.

“You’re heading towards the horde,” Edgar added.

“I know, I’m not an idiot! I’m going back to that house in the forest we found - just for now, so we can make a fucking plan,” Miles hollered.

Michael braced himself against the truck wall as they bumped over an uneven stretch of road. They were surrounded by boxes that rattled at the turbulent ride, and he looked closer and gasped as he realised they were filled with supplies - tinned food, leftover ammo.

“What the fuck, Miles, where’d you get all this?”

“When I got back I saw what was happening. With everyone forming a mob out there, no one was guarding the food. Took the chance to loot the place while they were preoccupied since I figured our lot wouldn’t be sticking around!” Miles cried, gleefully.

“If you’d come ten minutes earlier Dan might still be alive,” Edgar snapped.

The sound of his name made Gavin curl up and whimper. Michael looked down, and his heart wrenched. Gavin had always been small, but right now, crumpled in the corner, he looked tiny and broken, like a discarded ragdoll.

_Fuck_. This would break him, or maybe it already had. Michael couldn’t find the right words. The loss of Aaron was already a heavy stone weighing down the pit of his stomach. He couldn’t imagine what was going on in Gavin’s head. _They knew each other since they were kids, right? Jesus Christ._

_I don’t know how we’re gonna get past this._

Barbara got up and moved shakily to Gavin’s side, curling up next to him. Ellie moved to sit on his other side, both women leaning in to try and console him. Michael felt useless watching them, and after a moment he collapsed next to Ryan, who was sitting cross-legged with his head in his hands.

“Where’d you get that smoke bomb?” he asked. It was still doing a fucking number on his lungs; he felt like he’d swallowed sandpaper. 

“Made it a while ago,” Ryan spat. He looked up and for a second he glared at Edgar, on the other side of the truck - then he looked back at Michael. He was shaking like a leaf and Michael didn’t know what to say to him. “He shot him.”  
  
“Yeah,” Michael grunted, “I noticed.”  
  
“He _killed_ him, in cold fucking blood. This is what we’re dealing with here. Biters are like animals. But humans…”

He trailed off, wrapping his arms around himself. Michael bit his lip. He could already feel himself shutting down, trying to compartmentalise everything to deal with later on. Maybe right now that wasn’t such a bad thing.

“Got anything else up your sleeve?” he asked, but Ryan shook his head.

“That was the last bomb. It’s useless against biters so I was saving it for an… emergency. But I’m all out, now. My supplies were all on the bus. There’s nothing left.” He curled up tighter, turning his face away. “Nothing left.”  
  
The truck bumped on, speeding into the night. Michael leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes. Everything felt too heavy.

\---

The house was almost _too_ nice. Too normal. It was throwing Barbara off - after so long living out in the middle of the forest, she’d almost forgotten what life before all this was like. Something about that made her want to cry - the elegant marble basin, the cool green tiles under her feet. She wanted to reminisce about the home she’d grown up in, about the first apartment she bought on her own, about everything she _missed_ -

But he wasn’t here to share all that with. 

She stared into her own eyes in the mirror. Living in the forest wasn’t kind to anyone; her hair was greasy, her skin breaking out and her face puffy from all the crying she’d done today. She felt dangerously close to falling apart.

But she took a deep breath and splashed cool water on her face before turning.

“Gavin,” she whispered.

He was sitting on the edge of the bathtub where she’d left him - head hanging down, eyes blank.  Barbara couldn’t tell if maybe he was in shock or what, but she bit her lip and stepped forward with a basin of cool water and a washcloth. Gavin didn’t respond as she unlooped the scarf from around his neck and laid it aside - as she wiped his hands, and then his face, letting her tilt his head back and forth like a doll. Slowly she washed away the grime and the dried spatters of blood. Underneath he still looked hollow and bruised.

When she moved to pull up the sleeves of his jumper, he finally stirred, jerking his arms back and shaking his head.

“No… don’t,” he said softly, and she stepped back.

“Sorry,” she murmured. He started to turn away again, but Barbara grabbed his shoulder.

“Gavin,” she whispered. “I know how much you must be hurting, but… we need you to come back. _Please_.”  
  
“No, you don’t,” he replied, flatly. “You don’t need me. This is all my fault.”  
  
He started to cover his face, but she pulled his hands down gently.

“No, it’s not,” she said firmly. “None of this is. It’s not on anyone except Flynt.”  
  
“I let it get to this point,” he argued. “He’s right, I’ve been a _fool-”  
_  
He broke off as she seized his shoulders, leaning in to look him intently in the eyes. Her throat felt tight and honestly she was still on the verge of tears, but she gripped him fiercely until he met her gaze.

“I still believe in everything you told me,” she said, and drew a shaky breath. “Aaron died today. But if it wasn’t for you, he would have died weeks ago of the fever - remember that? You think Flynt would have given him that medicine?”  
  
“What’s it matter?” Gavin said. “He’s dead now either way.”  
  
Barbara flinched, and Gavin gasped a little as he seemed to register what he’d actually said. He looked up and bit his lip.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t - I didn’t mean it like that.”  
  
“I know,” she whispered, and squeezed his shoulder. Tears welled in her eyes as she said, “You lost a brother today. So did Chris. But please, Gavin, just - stay strong for now. Just for _now_ , for a little longer. _I_ need you.”  
  
Gavin looked away, but he didn’t resist when Barbara pulled him close until their cheeks were pressed together. It was a tender, intimate motion of shared grief. She could feel him shaking against her, but after a moment he lifted one trembling hand and covered her hand with his own, their fingers interlocking just slightly.

He took a deep, wavering breath.

“I’m really not okay right now,” he admitted, voice cracking.

“Me either,” she whispered. “Really feels like the end of the fucking world, doesn’t it?”  
  
Gavin scoffed, humourlessly. They stood for a while, struggling to breathe. Eventually Barbara swallowed, painfully.

“Please,” she repeated, “Michael’s out there and I - I know he’s struggling to cope with this alone, too. We need to go out and help him, okay?”  
  
She felt Gavin nod. He stood up, and after a second she pulled him into a proper hug. They embraced tightly and for a moment she let her face crumple too, let a little of the turmoil inside sweep through her. Let herself _hurt_. Then she forced it back in, locked it all away to dwell on at another time. It was difficult - but, she thought, necessary.

They pulled apart and she saw Gavin look over at the mirror and take a shaky breath. He rubbed his face, smoothed back his hair, and then tugged his sleeves down over his hands and gave a firm nod before following her out.

\---

The others were milling around in the expansive living room when they emerged, a sombre silence hanging over everybody, the room dim with candlelight. Ellie was sitting on the couch, crying silently to herself. Barbara wanted to go over and comfort her - but she saw Michael standing a little distance away, staring out the window with his shoulders hunched, and after a moment’s hesitation walked over to him instead.

“You okay?” she whispered.

He turned and gave a jerking nod, eye wide and startled.

“Yeah - yeah, I’m fine.” He fidgeted uncomfortably. “It’s selfish.”  
  
“What is?”  
  
“What I’m worried about. Brown hasn’t called.” He stared down at the walkie-talkie. “I don’t know if he’s still in that tunnel, or if he got out. If he’s hurt. If he’s mad at me. It’s stupid - I know after everything that happened, it seems like it hardly matters, but-”  
  
“It’s not selfish,” she cut in. “Of course it matters. He’s one of your friends, just like the rest of us. I’m sure he’ll call in soon.”  
  
Michael nodded, but he didn’t seem convinced. He looked away and clenched his fists.

“I don’t think I can deal with losing a third person today,” he whispered, and Barbara felt the lump swell in her throat again. She squeezed his shoulder and after a moment they turned back to the others.

Edgar had made a beeline for Gavin, and as Barbara watched he reached for the other man and ran a hand over his cheek, checking him over. There was something too intimate in the movement, but Gavin shook him off almost absently. Miles didn’t look happy, watching the two of them with folded arms. There was clearly some sort of drama going on there that Barbara wanted no part in - but Michael was soon ushering them all over to the table in the centre of the room, where he’d laid out a map of the area.

“So where do we go from here?” he asked.

"We can’t stay,” Edgar said immediately. “It’s close to the horde and right now we don’t know what direction it’s moving in - just that it’s already swarmed the forest where your campsite is.”  
  
“We have another problem,” Ryan added - they all turned to him. “Miles’ decision to loot the entire fucking camp means that the horde isn’t our only enemy. Flynt’s going to want his supplies back - and that goldmine of a truck. He’ll be coming after us.”  
  
“Not to mention he wanted to raid this house, anyway,” Ellie said.

Miles grimaced.

“Look, in my _defence_ , at the time it seemed like I was killing two birds with one stone!” he cried. “I say we pick this place clean and get the fuck out of here. Head north - towards the countryside.”

“Run away?” Michael demanded.

“What do you mean, _run away_?” Ellie asked with a frown.

“And just leave Flynt out here?”  
  
“As opposed to…?” She trailed off, quizzically, and a heavy silence fell. Michael was looking around at them all as though they were missing something obvious.

“As opposed to taking care of the fucking _problem?”_ he cried. “He killed Dan. He hates Gavin. He wants his shit back. He’s going to _keep coming_ _after us_. It won’t stop!”  
  
“He’ll have bigger problems on his hands soon,” Barbara pointed out. Her heart was drumming heavily and while she’d long gotten used to the fact that Michael’s default volume was ‘shout’, something about the harsh note in his voice scared her. “We shouldn’t pick a fight with him, if that’s what you’re suggesting.”  
  
“The fight’s already been _picked_ ,” Michael hissed. “We need to eliminate him, _now_ , while the horde has him distracted. It’s his moment of weakness and the best time to strike.”

_Eliminate? Strike?_ Barbara stared at him, horrified. She could tell from Michael’s blazing eyes and the tremor in his voice that he was scared - that he really thought this was the best option. That he didn’t want to lose anyone else. And she got it, she really did - the sight of Dan crumpling limply to the ground, how everything had changed in an instant at the whim of one man who was willing to pull the trigger - it was terrifying. It could have been any one of them.

But planning a _murder_? It was a huge jump from everything else they’d done, and made unease curl deep in her gut. She couldn’t help but think of the vagabond, and the sort of threat he’d been - and how she hadn’t been relieved he was dead. The opposite.

“Michael,” she said slowly, “This horde is our chance to get _out_. To escape and run away without having to cause any more deaths! We should take it while we have the chance instead of risking any more of our lives trying to get revenge.”  
  
“It’s not just about revenge, it’s about making the future safer. He’s only gonna get _worse_ , Barbara, after this - and he’ll be always be a threat to us, always be out here somewhere.” 

“And we’ll be far away,” she pointed out.

[They stared at each other across the table, stuck in a deadlock.](https://www.strawpoll.me/15387661) The others shifted uncomfortably. But what Barbara knew, was _certain_ of, was that she wouldn’t be a part of this. She refused to be, ever again, in spite of everything.

Or at least, she thought she did - she turned to Gavin to see what he was thinking. Gavin, who seemed to be a compass always pointing the right way home. But his head was lowered now, fingers twisting idly together. He didn’t speak.

“Ryan?” Michael prompted after a moment. “Chris?”  
  
“Ummm,” was Chris’ eloquent contribution. “I- I don’t…”  
  
He trailed off, helplessly - but Ryan looked up with furrowed brows.

“I think we need to eliminate Flynt. He’s definitely a danger. But there’s a chance the horde will take care of him for us.”  
  
“We can’t be certain,” Michael growled. “We _have_ to be certain.”  
  
_Do we?_ Barbara thought - it all seemed grotesque to her - the blood lust, the body count. Flynt had killed Dan so easily it made her sick. What did it make them if they did the exact same thing to him?  
  
“Don’t leave a loose end hanging if it’s like, a swinging, live electric wire,” Miles mused. He turned to Michael and nodded. “I agree with you in theory. The smart thing to do is to take him out since I don’t think anyone else in his crew will step up to the plate. The people in this world are only getting worse and we’re doing ourselves no favours letting them fester. But when it comes right down to it… I take orders from Gavin, not you.”  
  
Michael stared at him, stunned and a little insulted. Edgar was nodding in agreement, and Ellie bit her lip and turned to Gavin as well.

“Gav?” she prompted softly. “What do you think?”  
  
But Gavin was already shaking his head.

“No,” he said, his voice low and rough, “You don’t take orders from me. I’m not in charge any more. Don’t!” he snapped, when Miles opened his mouth to argue. “I give up all of it. I don’t want to kill Flynt, for what it’s worth. I don’t want to organise a fucking assassination. All I want is to get far away from here. As far away as possible. No more killing.”  
  
Barbara reached out and squeezed his arm, but the other three looked uncertain. Michael had a torn look on his face, and a moment later Gavin slipped from the room, head hanging down. Michael looked down for a moment, then took a deep breath and moved to follow him.

“Michael!” Barbara began, alarmed. There was a funny, fierce look on his face that made her scared what he intended to do. But he just shook his head.

“I’ll be right back,” he called, “In the meantime, figure out the best place to go after here. Whatever happens, we can’t stay.”  
  
He rushed out and Barbara was left to turn helplessly back to the others, a sinking unease in the pit of her stomach.

\---

Gavin had gone out onto the back deck of the house. Stepping outside made Michael feel uneasy - everything seemed a little less safe, a little less warm. The dark garden stretched out below them, filled with ominous shadows, the surrounding forest black and hellish. As he stepped out, grimacing as the wood deck creaked under him, he felt lost. He didn’t know how to do this - grapple with someone else’s grief. His own was locked away, in a chest at the bottom of the sea.

Gavin stood at the far end of the balcony, hunched over the rail and gripping it in white-knuckled hands, trembling. He stiffened when he heard Michael’s footsteps approaching.

“What do you want, Michael?” he demanded, when Michael stopped behind him. His voice was thick, like he’d been crying, but Michael swallowed his discomfort away. Right now he was fired up, the anger still burning low in the pit of his stomach. Not at any of the others - none of this was _their_ fault - but at the fucking world, at the God he didn’t believe in, at Flynt, at _himself_.

“I need you to back me on this,” he said, his voice tight and hard.

“No you don’t,” Gavin replied. “It doesn’t matter what I want.”  
  
“It does.” Michael stepped closer. “It does, because whether you like it or not, the others in there follow your lead. Edgar, Ellie, _especially_ Miles - if you don’t at least give them the okay to do what they think is right, they-”  
  
“Fuck off.”  
  
Michael froze at the sheer venom in his voice. A tense silence fell.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I said fuck off, Michael,” Gavin spat. “I don’t want to deal with it right now.”  
  
Michael flounded for a moment, sputtering. Then a cold determination took over.

“Well, you don’t have a God damn choice!” he cried. The stress of the situation felt like a hand squeezing his heart; fuelled with anger, he marched forward and spun Gavin around. The other man’s face was tear-streaked and puffy, and he didn’t resist - just stood there, limply, staring up at Michael with dead eyes even as he shook him by the shoulders. “No one gets to opt out here, no one gets to just _quit_. We’re all alive, we’re all here, we’re all stuck in this _shit_ together, and that means you don’t get to stand by the sidelines.”

Gavin looked away. His face was white, his jaw clenched.

“You want me to give the others permission to kill him if they want to,” he repeated, slowly.

“Yes,” Michael snapped. “Because it’s the right fucking thing to do. Maybe not the good thing, maybe not the _moral_ thing - but the right thing for us and our group.”  
  
Gavin didn’t answer for a long moment. He was breathing heavily, tears running from the corners of his eyes in uncontrolled streaks.

“He’s a killer,” he croaked finally. “You want us to become that, too?”

Michael saw red for a moment. Red like when he’d seen that damn kite again, red like when he’d stabbed the man on top of him trying to fucking machete him to death. Red like back in that black fog when he’d known Flynt was out there, somewhere, and he’d’ve torn the man’s damn throat out with his teeth if he had to.

“Jesus fucking Christ, what is _wrong_ with you?” he breathed. “He murdered your best friend in front of you because he will _not hesitate_! I want to stop that happening to Barbara or Chris, or _you_ , or any of us! I’ll pull the trigger myself if it makes you fucking feel better, but I can’t organise this alone. Don’t you fucking _see_ , do you really care _that much_ about-”

“Shut up!” Gavin practically screamed, and suddenly he was furious and up in Michael’s face, so close Michael could see the tears shimmering in his bloodshot eyes. His hands fisted in Michael’s shirt, yanking him close. “Don’t you think I hate him too? Don’t you think I want him _dead_? I would throw him to biters if I could, I would burn him alive! Don’t you dare fucking imply that I don’t _care_ about what happened! I am-”  
  
He broke off with a sobbing choke that seemed to tear right out of his chest. It sent a chill right through Michael’s blood.

“I am _broken_ ,” Gavin said, “In a way that nothing can _ever_ fix. I can’t even _begin_ to put into words the way that what happened today has affected me.”

Michael stood still - stunned by his rage, Gavin’s fingers gripping helplessly at his shirt. After a moment Gavin’s shoulders slumped; he looked down, sniffing, trembling fitfully.

“Dan wasn’t just my best friend,” he whispered, each word a tearful effort. “He saved my life, and I don’t just mean at the beginning of the outbreak. I have family back home, but we’re - we’re not close. When I was in complete darkness, when I had _nothing_ , he was the only person who made me feel like I was worth something. I loved him more than I’ve ever loved anyone. And now he’s _gone_ and - and a part of me still can’t believe it. Part of me just can’t register that this is a world without him now.”  
  
His hands slipped from Michael’s shirt and he turned further away. When he spoke again, his voice was almost hysterical, shaking so hard he could barely get the words out.

“I don’t think it’s even quite hit me yet. But when it does…”

He turned away with another sob. Michael bit his lip. His anger had drained away a little; he wanted to reach out, but felt clumsy and awkward.

“I have to get away from here,” Gavin cried, desperately. “I have to keep moving _now_ , or I don’t think I ever will. And I am not going to stop and turn around and go _back_ for Flynt. Not even to kill him. I am not going to let him consume me. I’m too _close_ to this, Michael - don’t you see? And what have I got left to cling to? _What_? Vengeance won’t last forever.”

Michael was silent. He felt drained and numb. And as much as he’d hated Gavin’s ridiculous moral compass deal, to see him with _nothing_? It was terrifying, and he could see just how lost the other man felt, floating in some empty sea without a lifeline to cling to.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured finally. “I - I didn’t mean it like that. You don’t have to kill Flynt. Hell, you don’t even have to give them permission. I won’t make you. I shouldn’t have tried. They’re grown ass adults, they can make their own choices.”  
  
“I’ll be glad when you do it,” Gavin said. “But I can’t be part of this. Not right now, at least. Please… let me grieve. Just - let us _go_.”  
  
“Yeah,” Michael whispered, and Gavin nodded.

“Thank you,” he said, tightly. And then, to Michael’s horror, broke down in tears - crumpling into himself, falling back against the balcony rail with his arms wrapped tightly around him, sobbing so hard that it nearly sounded painful. They were deep, wounded noises like he was dying, and for a moment - for a horrible moment Michael was back on a blood-streaked road, ears ringing from the explosion, watching a man on his knees struggle in the grip of paramedics, sobbing the names of his family. He’d had the same look on his face - a shattered, haunted look, like someone had reached into him and pulled out his soul, leaving him dead behind the eyes.

He hesitated, unsure what to do. Go to him? Or give him space?  
  
“Do you need…”  
  
He trailed off, helplessly. Gavin didn’t reply. His whole body was jerking with every sob and after a moment Michael reached out and moved to his side. When he wrapped an arm around Gavin, the other man didn’t pull away. Michael realised how fast his chest was heaving, how he was struggling to breathe, and bit his lip. 

“Cry if you want, but try breathe in time with me, okay? Gavin?”  
  
Gavin didn’t answer - but when Michael pulled him close and breathed slowly, heavily, after a moment he felt Gavin still a little and follow his lead. He was still choking and hiccuping, but after a moment he clung to the front of Michael’s shirt again and leaned against him, chest moving against his in the same rhythmic movements.

Michael closed his eyes. He felt a few hot tears leak down his own face, tasted salt and blood. It felt like there was a pressure on his own chest and the slow breathing helped him, too - made him feel like everything was just a little steadier.

It was strange to be needed like this. Not as a physical protector but as something else, something softer. But as clumsy and unfamiliar as it felt - he soothed Gavin as best he could. Let himself take a moment out here, too, before he knew he’d have to walk back into the light and figure out what the hell they were going to do here.

\---

Michael could feel the others’ questioning eyes on him when he returned to the room, but hadn’t the energy to care what they thought. He marched to the table, Gavin trailing behind him. The other man looked like a wreck, they all did, but he moved to Barbara’s side and even managed a tiny smile when she reached out and touched him on the back.

“What’ve you got?” Michael demanded, looking down at the map.

“To the north is the countryside,” Edgar said, calmly. “To the south, the mountains. Both expansive areas where there’s likely to be way less biters - but also way less supplies.”

“Small towns and homes might still have enough to scavenge,” Miles pointed out. “There’s farmland in both directions. Could get lucky.”  
  
“Okay,” Michael said. “What we need to do is figure out where the horde is now and which direction is safest to go in. Barbara, Gavin - the two of you told me once you’d prefer to be scouts. I take it neither of you want to stick around to get Flynt.”  
  
“No,” Barbara murmured, “We don’t.”  
  
“Then I’ll have you guys head north and check out the road. Don’t get too close to any biters - just get a sense of how the path’s looking. Chris, Ryan, you two go south. Afterwards I want you all to meet up here.”  
  
He pointed at a truck stop some distance away, hopefully clear of the horde - and looked up at the others. Chris looked worried, and Ryan had his usual tight, vaguely annoyed expression pasted to his face, but neither of them argued.

“And the rest of us?” Ellie asked quietly.

“We’re gonna be here at the house setting a trap for Flynt. We’ll be operating under the assumption that he’ll know we’re here and come to get his shit back. When he does, we strike. Kill him and then get the fuck out and meet the others.”  
  
“What about everyone with him?” Ellie asked.

“If they wanna come with us, I’ll let them have a shot at convincing me we should let ‘em come along. Otherwise, they go their own way,” Michael grunted. He wasn’t feeling particularly charitable, but Flynt was the main target of his anger. He wouldn’t rest easy until he knew the other man was dead. Maybe that was fucked up, but nothing about this situation was remotely normal, and the events of today had been a brutal kick in the arse that they needed to adapt to survive. “You okay with that?”  
  
Ellie nodded, and for a second she glanced at Gavin.

“You can go with them if you want,” Michael offered. “I’m not forcing anyone to stay and fight.”  
  
“No, I’ll stay,” Ellie whispered, and swallowed hard. “Once Flynt’s dead, I want to try talking to the others. See if I can convince them that they chose the wrong path.”  
  
Michael wasn’t sure quite how he felt about that sentiment, but they had no time to argue. 

“We need ammo.”  
  
“There’s a gun safe upstairs,” Miles supplied. “I saw it when we were in here last time. I’ll have a go breaking into it. There’s shit in the shed we should scavenge, too. Edgar and I had a look around before we left and that’s where we got the flamethrower.”  
  
He glanced at Gavin almost nervously, but the other man didn’t react - didn’t seem to even have been listening. Michael nodded, satisfied that they had the supplies they needed here.

“Then get going. Load up the truck and get shit done. We’ll stay in touch with the walkies.”  
  
They began to scatter, and he walked to Chris and squeezed his shoulder.

“Hey,” he said, his voice gentler than it had been. “How are you holding up?”  
  
Chris fidgeted and looked up at Michael with huge, vulnerable eyes.

“I don’t know,” he whispered. “Trying not to think about it. Trying to keep moving.”  
  
“You did good getting that bus out. I wanted to send Barb and Gav together because I think they both need a friend right now. Are you feeling okay about going out with just Ryan?”  
  
Chris swallowed nervously, but nodded. Obedient as always, bending to Michael’s will in a way that almost made him feel guilty. _He thinks you know what the fuck you’re doing. He probably hasn’t even considered the possibility that Aaron’s dead because of the choices_ you _made._

“Sure,” he whispered, “I think I can handle it. We’re staying out of the way of the biters, right? It should all be fine.”  
  
“Right,” Michael agreed, and clapped him on the shoulder. “Good luck.”  
  
Chris managed a tiny smile, but it faded quickly. His eyes were red, and he looked much older than he was. Michael turned away and caught Barbara’s eyes as she ushered Gavin towards the door. He wanted to go over and speak to her, but suddenly wasn’t quite sure what he’d say. She disapproved of this, he knew - but there was nothing but worry and fear in her eyes. After a moment he lifted a hand in an awkward half-wave. She lifted hers back and gave him a small, reassuring smile. And then the two of them were slipping away, and Michael took a deep breath and turned back to the others. There was no time to second-guess himself, now. Whichever way things went down, he knew after tonight nothing would be the same.

\---

Ryan felt sick as he and Chris drove through the night. It was hard to believe that just this morning they’d been setting out to the mountain pass. Now Aaron was dead, and Dan, and their camp - their _home_ \- overrun, and he had a sinking feeling that this was going to be far from the end of their troubles.

He was more scared than he’d ever been, even at the start of all this.

And Chris, beside him in the driver’s seat, was pale and gaunt in a way that frightened Ryan. He’d never been good with _feelings_ \- God, was that a fucking understatement - but he’d also never _had_ to be. He’d spent so much time on his own that he was hardly the sort of person his acquaintances would come to with their problems. Not exactly inviting, after all.  
  
It also meant that he could never relate to whatever Chris might be feeling now, or Gavin. He’d never had a best friend. Or… any friend, really.

But he did _like_ Chris - the other man had reached out to him with a generosity of spirit that Ryan had never experienced before. Some part of him, while standoffish and defensive, was intensely _grateful_ for that, and he hated to see the other man so sad now.

“I’m sorry about Aaron,” he said.

He blurted it out awkwardly and kicked himself when Chris flinched. He just - hadn’t had the chance to tell him yet. It felt important. And he _was_ sorry. He hadn’t been close to Aaron, but even he could see how fucking much he’d been a decent man. Brave, and kind, and even if he hadn’t reached out to Ryan, he’d never been anything but friendly and polite. Smiled if their eyes met, thanked him for the things he’d made for the group. Ryan was going to miss his presence.

“Thanks,” Chris said finally, choked. “It… it doesn’t feel real.”  
  
“This whole day’s been a nightmare,” Ryan admitted.

“You can say that again.” Chris ran one shaking hand over his face. “He was always just so _strong_ , you know? It never seemed like anything could happen to him.”  
  
“He died protecting us, on a job to save somebody.”  
  
“Always was a hero,” Chris said, miserably.

There was a pained silence. The forest flashed by on either side of them; they’d passed only a few biters. Ryan’s fear was a constant presence now; it was one thing to leave the base with Michael, another entirely for it to just be him and Chris. But he’d been scared for so long that it was all blurring together into a sort of resigned, anxious _numbness_.

“I… I think I’m going to try and do more,” Chris stammered eventually. “Aaron did so much for the group and Michael’s gonna need another right hand man. I’ve been scared, but it’s time to step up, you know?”  
  
“I’m pretty sure Barbara’s his right hand man,” Ryan pointed out, and Chris’ ears turned red.

“Yeah, but we need every fighting body we got.” He fidgeted in his seat. “At least some of Gavin’s people joined us. They seem nice.”  
  
_Nice_. He thought grimly of Edgar, and his stupid smug face. God, it was making him sick to see him slinking around the rest of the group - fawning over Gavin like he was some sort of helpful guardian angel instead of a fucking demon in disguise. Every time Ryan looked at him it was an unwelcome reminder of his own disgusting cowardice.

“Anyway,” Chris babbled, “I just… it feels right. It’s what Aaron would want. Michael’s done so much for us and I just want to make things as easy as possible for him. Especially since Gavin’s all shaken up too.”  
  
Ryan felt heavy with cowardice. There was a time when he would’ve looked down at Chris, but right now the look on the other man’s face put him to shame. There was something almost pure about the fierce determination in his eyes - how resolute he was despite his clear pain.

He looked away, but a second later Chris glanced at him.

“You know,” he said, uncertainly, “You’re… you’re worth a lot more than you think, Ryan.”  
  
Ryan started, staring at him. Chris looked flustered, but there was something earnest in his face, and suddenly Ryan felt a bit off-balance. He hadn’t realise his insecurities were so plain to see, and hot embarrassment overtook him. He wanted to snap at Chris, but the words wouldn’t come.

“I’ve done terrible things,” was all he managed to spit, but Chris shook his head.

“We’re all going to,” he whispered. “Even now the others are back at the house planning to kill a man. This world’s gonna change all of us but… each day is a new chance to be brave. You have to start at some point, right? The past doesn’t matter now. It won’t save you.”  
  
Ryan bit his lip. He had no answer, but Chris was turning away anyway, looking exhausted. They drove on in silence.

\---

The roads leading south were clear and the only biters they caught wind of were stragglers. Based on where Miles had said the horde was, Ryan was pretty sure that it wouldn’t head in this direction.

_To the mountains, then, unless Barbara’s had some spectacular luck_. 

They hit the point where Michael said they should stop - a rest stop where the road pulled away into a car park and petrol station surrounded by fast food shops and a small motel. The car park was pretty full, the whole place illuminated with blue moonlight. A little distance away a bus seemed to have crashed into several cars and fallen onto its side; the wreck made a hulking, dark shape in one corner of the parking lot and reminded Michael a little of a crashed spaceship on some desolate planet.

“This is good,” Chris said. “Road’s all clear. We can probably scavenge here before moving on. Shit,” he added, and pointed. The shadow of a biter crossed by the front of the dark, closed McDonalds a little distance from them. “There are quite a few of them around.”  
  
“We’ll need to clear out this place if we go down this way,” Ryan mused. “We can come back with the others-”  
  
“Or we can do it ourselves,” Chris cut in. “Nearly all the biters here are in cars. They’d be easy kills and then the others wouldn’t have to worry about it.”  
  
Ryan went still for a moment. Chris looked quite serious.

“You want to clear this place out on our own,” he repeated.

Chris nodded, vigorously.

“Yep. Make less work for Michael, you know?”  
  
Dread curled low in Ryan’s stomach. It’d been fine so far staying in the car, but the thought of stepping out made the memory of the train tunnel rise back up - the clusters of rotting bodies, the grasping hands, the _smell_.

“You realise,” he said stiffly, “That you and I are probably the two worst fighters in the group?”  
  
“So this is a good chance to practice. You haven’t killed one yet, right?” Chris asked, and the way Ryan averted his gaze made it hard to deny. “Don’t you want to start? The first one’s the worst. They’ll be strapped into their seats and easy to take out.”  
  
Ryan was already shaking his head. Every instinct, every process of logic was screaming at him that this was a fucking terrible idea. 

“You don’t need to prove shit to anyone, Chris,” he pointed out. “Michael knows you’re there to help him. You’ll have plenty of chances to be useful.”  
  
“It’s not just that.” Chris’ knuckles were white around the steering wheel. “Those… those monsters killed my best friend. I kinda want to bash a few heads in right now.”  
  
Ryan didn’t know what to say. After a moment, Chris undid his seatbelt and opened the door. He left the car running, grabbed a torch, and pulled his spear from the backseat before striding off into the dark.

Ryan stared at him, fidgeting and torn. Once he wouldn’t have thought twice about staying in the car. But it was _Chris_ \- Chris, who’d been so kind to him. Chris, who was hurting and not thinking straight right now. Could he really let him go out there alone?

_You’ve got to do it some time. He’s right - now’s a better chance than any_. Taking a deep breath, he unbuckled his own belt and followed on shaking legs.

\---

“Okay, there’s no way we’re getting past here,” Barbara said.

From the top of the mountain they had a good view of the road stretching away north - and the immense amount of biters that were blocking the way. They weren’t in as organised a gathering as the horde in the city had been - had been scattered into the forest and surrounding towns - but there was still a lot of them. More than they could get through.

“Hopefully Ryan and Chris have had more luck,” Gavin murmured, and Barbara gave a dismal nod. He turned the car around and they headed back towards the meeting point in a glum silence.

It was the middle of the night, and distressingly dark. Barbara had been up nearly twenty-four hours by now and she was starting to feel it, a nagging exhaustion clinging to her bones, a pounding headache starting up - but although she was tired, she wasn’t _sleepy_. She was scared what she might dream if she let herself slip away.

They’d travelled mostly in silence, and when she glanced across at Gavin his face was grim, his jaw tight. He looked more dead than alive, but she didn’t doubt it would be a while before he let himself rest, too. 

It all seemed to blur into one endless, timeless journey; the lines of the road slipping away under their headlights, the silhouettes of the trees around them. She slipped into a daze, her mind flitting to Michael, back at the house - to the memory of Dan, falling and falling again - to the last time she’d seen Aaron smile, the last memory of his warm hand resting on her shoulder. Tears rose in her eyes again, but numbly, like some mechanical function of the body. Grief was wearing her so thin she could barely muster the energy to _feel_ anything anymore.

The car stopped, and she stirred, alarmed.

“What’s happening?” she asked, looking around - Gavin was staring straight out his window and she twisted to peer around him. In the dark, it was hard to see, but after a moment she realised there was a gap in the trees. The forest had been cleared out a little, and beyond a fence was a field in which she could see rows of white headstones. A roadside cemetery.

“Gavin?” she whispered, and saw him swallow, the artificial blue glow of the dashboard lights highlighting the sharp lines of his face.

“There’s biters,” he murmured, and pointed. She realised there were, indeed, three figures shambling aimlessly in the dark. “I wonder if they came from the trees, or if they died in there. If they were visiting somebody when something got them.”  
  
“Who knows nowadays,” she whispered.

“Every biter has a story. A moment when all the fear and pain just _stopped_. The last human thought they ever had. Do you think they’re aware, at all?”  
  
“What do you mean?” she asked.

There was a funny, dull tone in Gavin’s voice, like he was talking in his sleep. He wouldn’t turn to look at her.

“The biters. They don’t have memories any more but do you… do you think they’re aware at _all_ of what’s happening? They don’t feel pain but they must feel hunger. Do you think if we die… _when_ we die… if we turn… we’ll know what’s going on, even if we don’t understand it?”

It was a horrible thought, and not one Barbara had spent much time contemplating. She knew that at the start of the outbreak, some people hadn’t understood what was going on, and had tried to keep their turned family and friends locked away, waiting for the moment that someone came up with a proper cure. That hadn’t ended well for them.

“I don’t think so,” she replied finally. “They’re _dead_. They don’t understand anything anymore.”  
  
Gavin hummed. The silence that fell was almost thoughtful. She found she couldn’t take her eyes off it, either - the shadows of human bodies drifting around the headstones, like ghosts or maybe some sort of dark angels.

“Are you religious, Barbara?” Gavin asked.

“I’m Jewish but I don’t really practice. How about you?”  
  
“I was raised Catholic.” He scoffed out something like a laugh. “Really, _really_ Catholic. It’s hard to shake off, sometimes. I think I still believe in heaven and hell. But it’s - hard. To really understand what happens after someone dies. Even now, it’s hard to believe that Dan’s _gone_. Totally, completely gone - will never wake up again. His soul must be somewhere. Surely we can’t just _stop_. Or maybe I’m just stupid.”  
  
“No, I… I get it. I’ve always thought it’d be easier to just not believe in anything. I don’t know, to be honest. I don’t think I ever will.”

He shifted in his seat and finally turned to her. His tears had dried a while ago; he just looked drained and tired.

“We never got the bodies,” he whispered, and Barbara hung her head miserably. “At least there’d be closure if we did.”  
  
She thought of how she’d killed the vagabond’s biter, how it’d felt like an ending - given her some sort of peace, even if in the end, it hadn’t really _meant_ anything. Suddenly it was as though the floodgates had opened; a wave of pent up emotion built up in her and before she knew it she was pulling out her knife and opening the car door.

It was cold outside, colder than she’d expected, and hit her like a slap in the face. It was nice, gave her a jolt that made her feel alive again. She was dimly aware of Gavin exiting the other car door. They walked to the fence together and without a word began to whistle and thump at the wood.

She saw the figures pause and turn. The car’s headlights cast two bright streams onto the graves and after a moment, the biters slowly wandered into sight. An older woman approached first, her dead skin worn away by the elements. Barbara reached out across the fence and stabbed her in the head; she crumpled, and the other two shambled forward to take her place.

She saw Gavin grab one and haul it close. She focused on the other, reaching for its shirt and plunging her knife into the side of its head. It slumped, but she didn’t let it go - kept it propped upright against the fence as she struck it again and again, watching flesh rip and tear just like Aaron’s had, blood forming a stinking pool under them. It was cathartic in a sick way and she barely realised she was crying until she felt the tears running down her face. Her knife moved mechanically; in, out, in, out, each punching blow seeming to seep a little of the pent up emotion from her chest.

Finally her grip on the biter’s shirt slipped, and it crumpled to the ground. She stood, shoulders heaving, her arm aching from the violent blows. Beside her, Gavin, who’d been doing the same thing, let his own biter fall as well. She realised her hands were sticky with blood and sheathed her knife, wiping them desperately on her jacket.

“That was…” Gavin began, only to trail off. He glanced at Barbara a little sheepishly, a shadow of guilt in his eyes - but Barbara couldn’t quite bring herself to feel bad.

“Cathartic,” she said softly, and he nodded. They slumped against the fence together, shoulders bumping, and although he still looked sad, there was a relief in his face that she felt too - like some pressure had been released. She felt exhausted, now, and her anger at the _injustice_ of this whole messed up world was abated, just a little. The lump in her throat still wouldn’t go away, but she thought with time she could learn how to breathe past it.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she whispered - and she was, suddenly, desperately relieved not to be alone. Gavin didn’t look at her, but he reached out and fumbled for her hand, taking it in his.

\---

“The truck’s outside. They’ll know we’re in here, and they’ll want the keys,” Michael said. “Our aim is to split the group out and take out Flynt. Without him, we have a better chance of either reasoning with, or fighting the others.”

They nodded, and Michael gestured to the two sides of the house.

“Ellie, you go left. Edgar, you take the right. Make enough noise that in the dark they don’t realise where we are. We’ll leave one light on upstairs and I’ll act like I’m yelling at someone up there. Knowing Flynt, he’ll come to take me out himself. When he does, Miles will be hiding in the rafters. He’ll use a fire extinguisher to stun him and I’ll have the respirator from the garage on. I’ll kill Flynt while he’s distracted. If Flynt brings everyone up with him, you guys emerge and flank them. Everyone clear?”  
  
They nodded, and Michael let out a slow breath.

“Great. Let’s start turning out the lights and getting in position, then.”

They drifted away and Michael grimaced as one after another, Edgar snuffed out the candles, and the house fell into darkness. It was a good thing - the sort of cover they needed - working in the shadows and familiar with the building’s layout, they had a clear advantage, but it still made a shiver run down his spine.

He turned and trudged upstairs, breathing slowly and trying to prepare himself for his own role in all this.

_You got this. You have to do it, you know you do. It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve killed somebody. In the moment, you can’t hesitate. They’re all counting on you here._

_What would Geoff think?_

The thought crept into his head, unbidden, and he furiously tried to tamp it out. 

_Doesn’t matter. He’s dead. Just like Aaron, just like Dan. This world consumes you, doesn’t matter how good you are. Chews you up and spits you out. It’s taken Flynt, too. Put him down like any other biter._

He reached the upstairs bedroom and opened the door slowly, flicking on his lighter and igniting one of the candles he was carrying. He set it on the bedside table and then lit two more, the room filling with a warm glow.

It was a nice bedroom, with plush carpets and a big wardrobe with a mirrored door that made it look even bigger than it was. The expansive bed had the covers flung back and rumpled. He wondered who’d been in it; the house’s owners? Someone else holing up in here before them?

_Red curtains,_ he thought - and then, unwillingly, _Alex’s favourite colour._

_Don’t think about him. Where he is now. What happened. The past is in the past._

But he couldn’t help wondering, sometimes, if his ex still was out there - if _he_ ever thought about _Michael_. Hoped he was alive. Prayed for him.

He shook himself - _it’s not the time_ \- and walked to the cupboard, pushing the doors open instead.

He’d been running on adrenaline and it was only in the last couple of hours, as they wound down and planned, that he realised he was freezing. He’d left his parka on Aaron’s body and had been running around in the winter cold ever since. He rifled through the clothes hanging up in the closet - a lot of women’s coats and a few suit jackets - and his hand fell on one piece that he pulled out.

A thick, brown leather jacket, about his size. Real leather, he noticed, pleased - hard if not impossible for human teeth to bite through. A wolf was embroidered on the back. He shrugged it on and inspected himself in the mirror. The jacket was heavy and just a little too big. It felt like armour, in a good way.

“Suits you,” a voice said, and he whirled around to see Miles standing in the doorway with his eyebrows raised. “Lone wolf, huh?”  
  
“Used to think I was,” Michael commented, carefully.

It was hard to get a read on Miles. He’d saved their life and Gavin seemed to trust him, but Michael still couldn’t help but retain a couple of his previous doubts. Miles pushed off the door and stalked into the room, eyes trained on Michael curiously.

“Yeah,” he replied after a moment. “Me too. Guess you’re the alpha now, huh?”  
  
“Suppose so,” Michael said, and frowned at him. “Speaking of…”  
  
A tense silence fell between them, but Miles didn’t look hostile, just a little wary and curious.

“You can’t do that shit anymore, waiting for Gavin to decide what you should do. You’re stressing him out,” Michael said. “He doesn’t need that pressure on his shoulders.”  
  
“Fair enough,” Miles said. “But he’s the one damn person around here who’s earned my loyalty. Then again,” he said thoughtfully, “He seems to trust _you_ well enough, so I guess it depends how much I agree with his judgement.”

_Gavin trusts me?_ He supposed he would, after all they’d been through together, but still. There was something a little reassuring about the words.

“What’s in this for you?” Michael demanded. “Out of everyone here you seem like the one person who might survive best on their own. You’re quick, smart, you can get in and out of places. You’d have good luck out there as a lone scavenger.”  
  
“Sure would,” Miles agreed. “But like it or not, there always comes a time when you need someone to have your back. Not to mention, it gets pretty lonely out there.”  
  
Michael bit his lip. He couldn’t imagine going back to how things had been at the start- just him and Brown’s voice over the walkie. Entering new towns alone, sleeping without someone keeping watch. He hadn’t realised how much he’d missed human company until Geoff took him in.

“Ellie told me you risked your life to save her and Gavin. Led the horde away on your own,” he said slowly.

Miles actually looked a little sheepish, turning away and rubbing the back of his neck.

“Seemed the best way to prove I wasn’t just in this for myself. I don’t want the two of them dead. They’re good people.”

“Then you’re alright in my books,” Michael said, and Miles smiled a little.

“I was just wondering,” he added - something almost vulnerable in his voice - “Do you think Gavin trusts me yet? Or do you reckon in the back of his head he still sees me as just a no-good criminal?”  
  
“Trust takes time. It’s earned through the shit you do,” Michael said. “Gavin gives people the benefit of the doubt more often than not. Keep proving yourself and you’ll get there. Just make sure you don’t get yourself killed first.”  
  
Miles nodded. He looked troubled, but before Michael could press him on what he was thinking about, there was a shout from downstairs.  
  
“Guys,” Ellie called softly up the stairs, “He’s coming.”  
  
Instantly Michael was on edge. Miles snapped to attention, too - he thrust the respirator he’d been holding into Michael’s hands and gave him a quick smile.

“I’ll be ready to back you up,” he said - and then, with venom, “Don’t let this fucker get away with it.”  
  
“Trust me, he won’t,” Michael said darkly, shoving the mask into his pocket and drawing his gun. Miles saluted and slipped out of the room, and when Michael walked to the door he saw him pulling himself easily up into the rafters above the staircase, where he’d already stashed the fire extinguisher. In the dark shadows he was nearly invisible. The whole house fell still and quiet, and Michael looked down over the banister.

He could see bright lights through the glass doors - the others’ cars - and hear raised voices outside. His heart was pounding hard, and as soon as he heard the doors begin to open he slipped back into the bedroom and waited to play his part-

\---

“It’s easy. You can use my spear if you like,” Chris said.

Ryan bit his lip. His hands were shaking around his baseball bat as he stared at the biter that writhed and thrashed in the driver’s seat. The belt around its waist stopped it reaching them, but every time Ryan looked at its bloodstained teeth or grasping, filthy fingers, it made something lurch deep in his chest. It looked particularly horrible in the bright beam of the torch Chris was holding in one hand.

“Come on. It’ll be easier than using that,” he pointed out, and Ryan slowly put the bat back in his belt and took the spear. He hefted it in his hands and tried to breathe deeply.

_Come on. Come on. It’s just a blade moving through flesh. Think about it clinically; it’s already dead, you’re just putting it down. How many times did you dissect animals back at university? Hell, you’ve even dissected human parts. It’s not different at all._

The snarls and hisses sounded too human, but Chris’ hand squeezed his shoulder.

“Come on,” he repeated, as encouraging as a kindergarten teacher, and Ryan took a deep breath and slowly pushed forward with the spear.

The point drove into the biter’s eye, pushing its head back against the car seat. Slowly the entire knife penetrated its skull; it fell still and silent and he wrenched it free with a spatter of blood. His hands were shaking hard; he felt vaguely lightheaded.

“Now that wasn’t so hard!” Chris cried, and thumped him on the shoulder.

Ryan leaned heavily on the spear, catching his breath. After a moment, he grinned - and then laughed in relief, little chuckles that soon turned into full blown guffaws.

“My first biter,” he managed, “I did it!”  
  
“Good job!” Chris said happily. “Let’s see what’s in the boot. Maybe we can scavenge some stuff from here.”  
  
He tried to slam the car door shut, but lost his grip on the torch and accidentally dropped it against the metal roof of the vehicle. It was a heavy torch, and landed with a metallic _clang_ that seemed deafening in the silent carpark. Both of them froze, spinning around fearfully. 

For a second, Ryan thought they were clear. Then he heard one low hiss - and another, and another, the unmistakable noise of stirring biters. His previous confidence drained away, filled with nothing but dread.

It was coming from the wreck of the bus in the dark corner, and they both turned towards it slowly. Chris fumbled with the torch, casting the beam towards the bus. Slowly, a dark figure rose from behind it - and another, and another - moving with the typical lurching steps of the undead into the light.

Ryan’s breath caught in his throat. The figure was oddly small, and as it stepped into the light he realised it was a child of about eight or nine years old - tiny and thin, dressed in the bloodied and torn remains of a school uniform, still with a heavy backpack hanging from its shoulders. The boy was long dead, his skin pallid and greenish, eyes pure white. Tiny, gasping moans came from his mouth as he lurched towards them.

“Oh, Jesus,” Chris breathed, and took a stumbling step backwards. “Jesus, it’s just a kid…”  
  
He trailed off with horror. More figures were emerging from the bus, with weak hisses and groans. More students. More _children_. Ryan couldn’t take his eyes off them.

As time went on, as decomposition set in, it’d been easier and easier to dismiss the biters as monsters. This was a brutal reminder that they’d been _people_ once, and he found himself frozen as he watched them move forwards, dragging their feet, tiny mouths gaping like baby birds. Something pitiful about their small faces and big eyes - the girl with dirty scraps of pink ribbon hanging from her pigtails, the child with the too-big hat flopping over his eyes. One had a big, bright badge pinned to the front of his school jumper: _BIRTHDAY BOY._

“Fucking hell,” Ryan breathed. They stood transfixed, watching as the children got closer and closer. He knew what he had to do. He just couldn’t bring himself to move-

But before he could, there was a snarl from the darkness - and he spun around just in time to see something seize Chris and drag him backwards.

The other man barely had time to scream. A biter had lurched from the other end of the car park, drawn by the loud sound just as the schoolchildren had been. They’d been so distracted they didn’t see her coming - a thin, damaged looking woman, but with the same inhuman strength all biters seemed to possess. Chris thrashed in her grip as Ryan stood, frozen, still not quite registering what was happening.

All he could see was the beam of the torch, flashing up and down and casting erratic shadows across the car park as Chris flailed. He reached for his weapon - but Ryan was still clutching it, and a moment later he screamed as the biter’s teeth tore into his throat.

Blood - so much blood, more than Ryan had ever seen before, fountaining into the cold night air. The torch fell from Chris’ hand and in the beam Ryan saw crimson spatters raining down onto the concrete ground. His voice petered away into a choked gargle-

And Ryan, Ryan fell to his knees, pure horror striking him momentarily numb. He couldn’t register what he was seeing - Chris, covered in blood - Chris, choking on his own breath - Chris, falling limp in the biter’s grip, sliding to the ground where she fell upon him, teeth working against his flesh like an animal.

_Move. Move. Move._

It was sheer, primal instinct that forced him to his feet as he saw the child biters shambling towards him. Pure, blind fear that had him stumble to the torch and seize it in his free hand.

He cast it towards the biter. She looked up from the ground, mouth and chin covered in blood - _his blood_ \- with a furious, broken roar Ryan thrust the spear at her. It caught her through the eye and she crumpled backwards - he let the spear go, staggering backwards.

_This isn’t happening. Move. Move. You’ll die if you don’t._

He heard a snarl and just managed to leap backwards as the little boy lunged at him. Without thinking about it, he pulled the baseball bat from his belt and swung it at him with a wild yell.

It was easy.

The boy was much smaller than him, much weaker. Ryan’s bat crushed his skull like he was smashing a fucking watermelon. The girl lumbered towards him - with another hoarse cry, he swung at her as well. And then at the next child, and the next - something nightmarish to it, each wrenching another desperate, pained noise from his throat, each covering the bat with more and more blood, each another body falling limply to the ground. Each a blow to his own heart - a tiny girl with her hair in braids, a boy whose glasses broke under the force of Ryan’s bat. 

One after another - they fell, until at last the car park was silent again. Ryan spun around a few times, swiping at shadows, and when he realised that he’d managed to clear the whole yard, it took a moment to register.

Then the most deep, aching despair speared through his chest. He collapsed to his knees with a broken noise, breath heaving in and out in ragged sobs.

_You are alone._

He didn’t feel brave. He didn’t feel like he’d won. He didn’t even feel _strong_ , surrounded by these tiny broken bodies and nothing but silence, spattered with gore, his whole body aching. After a moment, he crawled to Chris’ body, hands fluttering uselessly over him as though he might somehow put him back together.

But no - Chris lay quite still, face white and eyes staring sightlessly up at the sky, expression contorted into one last, horrible spectre of fear and pain. The side of his neck was still leaking blood, and at the sight of it Ryan’s face crumpled and he felt another terrible pang deep in his chest.

“No… no… _no_ ,” he heard himself whisper. His hand ran over Chris’ body, uselessly - after a moment he reached into his jacket and pulled out his notebook. It was damp with blood but he clutched it close. “Please, no. No.”  
  
_This can’t be happening._

But it _was_ , and he could feel panic already beginning to seize up his chest. Clinically, he realised that if he was going to get out of here, it had to be now before he totally froze up. He started to stand, then paused.

Chris’ eyes stared up at him, sightless yet somehow accusing. With trembling hands, he grabbed the spear from the biter beside him and wrenched him out.

_Oh God. Oh, God_. His hands were shaking - but he owed him this, he _did_ , and with a wrenching sob he thrust the spear down through Chris’ own head.

_He won’t come back now_.

He couldn’t look at the aftermath - just turned away, shaking like a leaf, and stumbled back towards the car. He got about five steps away before his stomach lurched and he threw up, violently. Barely paused to register it before he staggered on and sat down in the car again.

He shut and locked the doors and then stopped for a moment. His throat burned acidically and he could smell blood and rot, and he was still clutching the book in his hand. He looked down at it, and then up at the dark shadow of the body, lying there in the darkness.

_We won’t stop here. The noise will draw more; they’re probably on their way now. We’ll take a detour earlier up the road and pass this place by. You will never set foot here again_. 

_Go back, now. Tell Michael what happened. And leave this place far behind. Leave everything behind_.

He put his hands on the wheel - but couldn’t move, suddenly. Another sob bubbled up in his chest and he didn’t try to swallow it down - not this time. Instead he sat, in the dark and silence alone, and cried like he was just a child again. Cried heaving, pathetic, sobbing tears and told himself it would be the last time he ever let himself.

\---

One of Michael’s more _unique_ talents was his inability to talk to himself alone for hours, holding an entire fucking conversation on his own. He hadn’t thought it would ever come in handy after the apocalypse, but now he stood in the bedroom berating a fucking _lamp_ in the place of an imaginary Gavin, figuring using his name would do even better to lure Flynt up here.

“-can’t believe you _still_ don’t want to loot this place, you fucking idiot! What the fuck is wrong with you, Gavin? They’re _dead!_ Whoever used to live here was _dead!_ How many people have to get killed before you get it through your thick fucking skull?”  
  
He felt faintly guilty even if he knew it was just an act. For a flash of a moment, he wondered where Gavin actually _was_. It’d been a couple hours by now and they would be well on their way down the highway. But he didn’t have time to think about that - he’d heard the door opening, and faint voices downstairs, and now the second he heard a creak on the staircase he stepped into the cupboard, pausing for breath as he slunk back into the shadows.

_Soon. Soon. Hopefully the others split up like we hoped they would. Hopefully it’s Flynt who comes up here, and hopefully he’s alone…_

He pulled on the full-face respirator from the garage. It made his breathing sound heavy and nasal to his own ears and he steadied his grip on his gun, ready to jump out-

A soft creak. The door opening nearby. He watched through a crack in the cupboard door as Flynt slipped into the room - cautiously, his gun raised, clearly expecting to catch Michael and Gavin in the middle of a huge argument.

The mere sight of him made Michael’s blood boil. In the hours since the showdown at Gavin’s camp, Flynt had grown in his mind to magnificent, villainous proportions. Maybe he was just fucking exhausted, but in the flickering candlelight the other man’s immense frame, pale hair and glinting dark eyes made him look almost demonic. He held his breath, waiting for him to get just a bit closer into the room so that he could leap out and catch him by surprise-

When suddenly, gunshots rang out in one of the rooms below - a rapid series of them: _bang, bang, bang, bang!_

Michael nearly jumped out of his skin. His heart was pounding instantly - a firefight had never been in the fucking plan, and he couldn’t tell if it was coming from Edgar’s side of the house or Ellie’s. He saw Flynt whirl around and turn back to the stairs, and felt a flash of alarm.

“Miles, now!” he screamed on impulse, and burst out of the cupboard, firing wildly.

Unfortunately, Flynt was on edge and already throwing himself out the door. Michael’s bullets struck the doorway and wall, leaving bullet holes in the wood, and Flynt whirled around and met his eyes. Michael knew he must look a fucking sight in the leather jacket and respirator, but a second later Flynt was engulfed in a cloud of white mist as Miles released the fire extinguisher from up in the ceiling.

Coughing and choking, Flynt began to stumble down the stairs. Michael ran forward to tackle him but he hadn’t expected him to move so fast, and as Flynt turned and fired back at him he was forced to swerve sideways to avoid being hit. He ended up charging right into the other man, his shoulder hitting him in the chest, and for a moment they both teetered precariously at the edge of the stairs before they were tumbling down together.

For a second the whole world spun around them; Michael’s respirator was covered in white foam and he could hear Flynt hacking and choking beside him. The world seemed to fall away  from him; the stairs were carpeted but as he crashed down them he still felt his limbs bang and bend at odd angles. He landed in a heap at the bottom, his gun skittering from his hand, and reached up to rip the respirator off his face. 

Flynt, beside him, had rolled into the leg of a table and knocked it over. A candle fell from it and the curtains nearby went up in a burst of flame. They scrambled to their feet at the same time and looked around for their guns, but in the darkness neither could find them, and the second Michael saw Flynt make a move for the floor, he lunged forward and tackled him with a shout.

Flynt hit the ground hard, Michael on top of him. With another roar, Michael punched him hard across the face - once, twice, felt his nose crack and his skin split under his knuckles. He pulled back for a third blow, but Flynt reached up and struck him in the throat with the heel of his hand.

For a second he panicked as he couldn’t get a breath of air in. He fell back but drew his machete with a wheezing gasp, and when Flynt crawled up towards him, Michael slashed at him with the blade.

Blood sprayed over them as he sliced across Flynt’s bicep - the other man roared, and Michael slashed at him again, a quick, sharp cut across his chest-

But Flynt had his own knife out now, and brought it down into Michael’s shoulder, twisting hard. White hot pain flared down his left arm, and the next thing he knew Flynt was grabbing him by the throat and hauling him bodily off the floor. He choke-slammed Michael down into the ground and a burst of white stars danced across his vision. The whole world seemed too bright, flickering between light and dark - and he realised a second later it was because the carpet had gone up in flames, too, a bright wall of fire behind Flynt that made him seem like an ominous silhouette.

He scrambled backwards. Flynt kicked the machete from his hand and loomed over him again.

“Thought you could pull one over on me?” he sneered with bloody teeth, and leaned in.

Michael had no gun, no knife, his left arm hurt so much he could barely use it - but his right hand groped for any sort of weapon, and closed around the walkie-talkie.

“Get _fucked_!” he yelled, and gripping it tightly in his hand, he smashed it across Flynt’s face. With a yelp, the other man fell sideways - the brute force of metal smashing into his face was pretty fucking effective. He spat two teeth out and when he looked up his face was bloodied and disfigured; Michael thought he might’ve broken a cheekbone. He scrambled after Flynt, bringing the walkie-talkie down again; it came away bloodied but Flynt flung an arm up to protect his face and then kicked Michael hard in the stomach. He fell back to the ground but saw the gun nearby and started to crawl for it-

Only for Flynt’s boot to come down on his wrist. He screamed in pain and for a moment both of them wrestled on the ground, struggling to be the first to get free-

A wild yell rang out, and suddenly Miles was looming above them. He looked enormous, silhouetted against the flames, and he was holding his axe high above his head, bringing it smashing down into the carpet inches from Flynt’s head.

“Miles!” Michael cried, and took advantage of the distraction to squirm out from under Flynt and go for the gun.

He didn’t get far. Flynt grabbed his ankle and brought him to the floor again, and then slashed out with his own knife, cutting Miles across the leg. He went down hard and Flynt punched him twice in the nose, vicious quick blows that snapped Miles’ head back and made him drop his weapon. Flynt lunged for the gun, scrambling over Michael as he did so and digging his fingers into his injured shoulder.

Michael heard himself scream. It ripped out of him involuntarily, the entire world flaring white for a moment. He didn’t think he’d been in so much physical pain before in his entire life. Momentarily blinded, he saw Flynt shimmy forward, hand stretching out for the gun-

_Do something. Get up, do something, or you’re both going to die here._ He could feel the heat of the fire nearby; smell thick, acrid smoke.

The closest weapon was Miles’ axe.

Without even thinking about it, Michael snatched it up and rose, stumbling towards Flynt. The world was spinning and there was blood running into his eyes, but it came instinctively to bring the axe down on Flynt’s outstretched arm just as his fingers reached the gun.

Flynt screamed - an inhuman, wrenching cry that made Michael’s teeth ache. He stared down at the mess - he’d cut part-way through Flynt’s arm and it was a mangled mess of protruding bone and blood. Flynt stared at it in horror, the whites of his eyes huge and disconcerting in his dirty, blood spattered face. He stared up at Michael in shock, and Michael realised he was still holding the axe.

_This is it. Finish him. Do it now!_

He couldn’t hesitate. He didn’t have time. All he thought of, in that moment, was the gunshot and Dan falling and the way Gavin had crumpled in front of him, and Ellie’s hysterical scream, and the next thing he knew he was bringing the axe down again, on Flynt’s neck this time.

It cut through his flesh like butter; he gurgled, reaching up to clutch at his throat. Michael had gotten him right in the juncture between neck and shoulder and blood spurted out like a fucking pressure hose. In seconds the life was flickering from his eyes, and Michael couldn’t look away. He watched the colour drain from Flynt’s face, watched his eyes go from angry and scared to dull and lifeless. Watched every second of his death with his own heart pounding fast-fast-fast in his chest.

And then it was over.

And then there was just pain, radiating through his whole body, and a vague, shocked numbness.

_You did it._

_He’s dead._

He didn’t feel as much as he thought he would. Just sort of - shocked. He registered Miles getting up next to him, reaching up to touch his nose and hiss. Then picking up the fallen guns, and the machete.

“Holy shit,” Miles said, and Michael jerked from where he’d been staring at Flynt’s body. He looked up and realised what Miles was staring at.

The fire had spread along the curtains and cut them off from the front door. And beyond that - Michael could see the lumbering forms of biters, streaming from the forest towards the house. It took him a second to register the danger; when it did, a cold dread hit.

“Shit! The horde!”

“The gunshots must’ve drawn them,” Miles said grimly. “Holy shit, Michael, you fucked him _up_.”  
  
“Edgar!” Michael gasped, ignoring him and spinning around. “Ellie!”

Edgar emerged from a side room. His gun was hanging from his hand and he was spattered with blood. Michael realised he could hear screams outside - human screams - and a couple more shots. He wondered where all Flynt’s friends were.

“I took care of half of them,” Edgar cried - well, that answered that - “They saw me and shot first.”  
  
“Fair enough, but the shots drew biters here,” Michael growled. “Where’s Ellie?”  
  
“Up here!” she cried, and he twisted to see her standing in the hallway to their left. “Guys, the rest of the group are outside, it seems Flynt left them to watch their vehicles! The biters are on them!”  
  
“We’re not stopping to get them,” Michael snapped. “Come on, let’s get out of here!” 

He raced for the back window without a second thought. The fire was spreading quickly and he was scared the house would fall to pieces around them. Already he could hear the sound of the biters flooding in, all the human cries from the front drive gradually dying out.

Ellie looked pained, but he saw Miles grab her arm and rush her along. They vaulted out the back window - well, he considered it _vaulting_ but really it was more of a desperate scramble with his injured arm that involved a lot of swearing and falling onto his arse on the concrete outside -  and ran for the truck. He could see swaying bodies silhouetted against the flames as they passed the porch.

It was as he was climbing into the truck that Michael realised the absence of a familiar weight at his belt. A jolt of panic struck him.

“Did you grab the walkie?” he asked Miles, who was holding out a hand to pull him up into the truck. Miles shook his head and Michael bit his lip, looking back over his shoulder.

The house was burning and beginning to collapse, swarming with biters, more and more emerging from the forest, drawn by the sound and light. There was no way he could go back to get it.

_Ryan and Chris have the other one, at least,_ he thought, and let Miles pull him up into the truck. They drove off, leaving the burning wreck of the house behind them.

\---

Ryan felt numb as he pulled the car in to the meeting point. His tears had run out long ago; he felt encased in a hard shell, unwilling to move too fast, to let anyone too close.

Barbara and Gavin were already waiting. They sat on the hood of their car, knees brushing, bent close as they talked. As he pulled in, Ryan felt another flash of envy. He knew he shouldn’t - he could see immediately, in the line of their shoulders and their pallid faces, just how sharp their grief was. But they had each other, and he didn’t.

When he stepped out, alone, they turned and he saw the brief relief at seeing him melt away almost instantly. _It’s just you. Just you._

“Chris?” Barbara began - but he shook his head, and saw her face crumple.

“We hit biters at the rest stop.” He was surprised how clinical and tight his voice came out. “They got him.”  
  
“Holy shit.” Barbara raised a shaking hand to cover her mouth; Gavin looked pained. She turned to him, something desperate and shocked in her face. “It just doesn’t _stop.”_  
  
Ryan stood there, watching her visibly struggle to pull herself back together. The treacherous, petty thought hit him - _I bet she wishes Chris was here and not me. Who’d miss you if you died? They’d miss your_ inventions _, but not_ you _. What difference would it make to them? You never talk to them anyway._

He reached up almost absently and touched the book tucked into his coat pocket. Wondered if he should give it to her - but no, something selfish swelled in him. It was his to keep. Chris had shared it with him and he wasn’t going to lose this one scrap of the only friendship he’d had.

Gavin wrapped an arm around Barbara’s shoulders, looking helpless. Ryan glanced away.

“Poor Chris,” he heard her say. “Poor Chris, he was always so… he wasn’t made for this world. He was always so kind. He didn’t deserve it. Was it fast, at least?”  
  
Ryan nodded, numbly.

“It got him in the neck. He died quick.”  
  
He saw Gavin pull her close and turned away, sitting down by the wheel of his car. He let his head hang and his weapon fall to the ground next to him, exhausted to the bone.

The sun was rising.

It felt like it shouldn’t. In some stories, apocalypses meant the world fell into a forever-night and the heroes never saw the sunrise until they saved the day. But now the sky was growing brighter, and in the light of day they’d be forced to confront this new reality. He could hear the two of them murmuring together, and felt very alone.

After a little while, a shadow fell over him, and he looked up to see Gavin. The other man hesitated, then sat next to him. Ryan shifted away a bit.

“Are you okay?” Gavin asked.

“I’m unharmed.”  
  
“But are you _okay_?” There was a soft concern in Gavin’s face, but Ryan couldn’t tell if it was real.

“Yes, I’m perfectly fine,” he said stiffly. He looked down at himself and grimaced. His clothes were covered in blood - Gavin followed his gaze and bit his lip.

“I don’t think we’ve properly met before,” he pointed out. And then, inanely, “Um, I’m Gavin.”  
  
“Trust me, I’ve heard all about you,” Ryan said, hating himself for every clipped, impatient word. “Doctor Ryan Haywood.”  
  
As soon as he introduced himself he realised just how much the name didn’t fit. What the fuck did a PhD matter nowadays, anyway? It wasn’t gonna do shit to protect him from a biter.

Gavin didn’t seem perturbed. He held out a hand and Ryan shook it limply before letting his grip fall away.

“I killed biters today,” he blurted out. It felt important to mention it for some reason. “I - I haven’t before. I killed a lot of them.”  
  
“That must have been scary,” Gavin murmured.

“It wasn’t. They were only children.”  
  
He saw the shock flash in Gavin’s eyes - but it melted quickly in sympathy.

“Christ,” he replied. “I’m sorry you had to go through that. It’s tough, sometimes - you see one that reminds you of someone you knew. Or one that just looks so _human_. And you remember that they weren’t always monsters. But we do what we have to, to survive… I think the fact that it still makes us _feel_ something is a good sign. I know Michael would think it makes us weak, but - I think it just shows we’re still human, too. And we haven’t turned into monsters yet, either.”

Ryan stared at him. He liked that - the idea that the sick feeling in his stomach wasn’t some lingering cowardice but a sign he wasn’t as far gone as Flynt or any of the others. Gavin stared back at him - a weird little creature, all sharp angles and big olive eyes and his funny earnest voice. For a second Ryan wished he had what Barbara had found - some instant connection. He’d heard all about how Gavin took people into his fold, gave them a chance.

But Gavin, now, didn’t look like some saviour or messiah. He just looked like a tired, miserable boy. Ryan knew that after today, nothing would be the same. This was one giant clusterfuck and half of both their groups were dead. He turned away, hopelessly.

“Yeah, sure,” he muttered dismissively. Easier to push him away like everyone else.

Gavin seemed startled by his brusqueness. But he didn’t push it - just rose and returned to Barbara, leaving Ryan alone and kicking himself.

_It’s better this way_ , he thought firmly. _Look how much this hurts. Better this way._

\---

It was a relief when the truck pulled up just over an hour later. Ryan had been entertaining terrible thoughts about what they’d do if the others never returned and it was just the three of them. It was dawn by now, another overcast day. In the distance the sky over the forest was streaked black and red and the faint smell of smoke lingered in the air.

He stayed sitting on the ground as he watched Barbara run to the others to tell them what had happened. Heard Michael’s voice shouting, and saw him jump out of the truck only to kick and hit at the side of it in anger and despair. He curled further into himself, unable to move.

And he stayed sitting alone even as he watched the others drifting about - checking maps, siphoning petrol, treating their wounds. He heard Michael yelling about a fire and how Flynt was dead and the others killed by the horde. Saw them flitting about each other - Ellie’s hands on Gavin’s face, Barbara gently washing the blood from Michael’s body, working together, comforting each other. He saw, watching from a distance.

At one point Edgar walked by, and looked down at him. Their eyes met and he gave Ryan a smug sort of smile that he didn’t like much. Ryan didn’t have the energy to feel anything except sick and miserable.

He wasn’t sure how much time passed. He was hungry and tired but couldn’t bring himself to move. Eventually, Michael walked up to him. His arm was bandaged and there were deep bruises around his throat; he looked like he’d been through hell and back.

“Ryan,” he grunted.

“Michael,” he replied, looking up. There was something hard in Michael’s eyes, a change he couldn’t quite pinpoint. Like killing Flynt had been a turning point and any previous uncertainty he’d had was melted away. 

“You alright?” he asked gruffly. He crouched in front of Ryan and winced like the movement had hurt him. Ryan nodded, and there was an awkward silence before Michael swallowed.

“Barb says the north road was blocked. South okay?”  
  
“Yeah, it’s fine. We can head down there no problem.”  
  
“To the mountains it is, then,” Michael said, and bit his lip. When he spoke again his voice was hesitant. “About Chris… what happened?”  
  
Ryan looked away. He opened his mouth but the words seized up in his throat; like talking about it would make it real. Everything still felt like a dream; he kept expecting to see Aaron and Chris wandering up and joining the group. It was hard to register that they were both _gone_.

“He got… grabbed,” he managed to force out finally. “By a biter. It tore his throat out before either of us could stop it. I killed it - I killed all of them - but it was too late. We let our guard down for just one second and it came out of nowhere.”

Pain and guilt twisted Michael’s face; he hung his head for a moment, shoulders hunched.

“He trusted me,” he whispered. “I asked him if he felt okay going out there just with you, and he said he’d be fine. But neither of you are fighters. It was a stupid fucking move.”  
  
Ryan stared at him, chest tight. It was hard to tell what Michael meant, but his first instinct was that the other man was accusing _him_ \- him of being useless, of being able to protect Chris, of getting him _killed_. It made something sink in his stomach.

_It wasn’t my fault. It was Chris who wanted to get out of the car, Chris who was upset about Aaron and not thinking straight. I didn’t want to, I never wanted to._

“All he ever wanted was to prove himself to you,” he spat - and realised, as soon as he said it, that that came out as accusing _Michael_. He saw pain - then anger - flash in Michael’s eyes.

“Don’t you fucking start,” he growled. And then, venomously, “If you’d learned to fight biters earlier, maybe he’d still be alive. Did you at least grab the fucking walkie-talkie?”

Ryan blanched. He hadn’t given it a second thought until now - he’d taken the book, but he’d totally forgotten that Chris was carrying the walkie for them. He saw Michael realise what’d happened, and the look on his face was like Ryan had wronged him terribly. He didn’t speak, just rose in one abrupt movement and started to walk away, only to pause and look back over his shoulder.

“A lot of people are dead,” he said, icily. “No more. We can’t afford not to adapt to the world we live in now. Step the fuck up, Ryan, ‘cause no one’s gonna carry you anymore.”  
  
Ryan stared after him, cold and hating and _numb_. Michael walked away, and he wiped his sticky, bloody hands against his pants and felt nothing but sick and alone.

\---

Winter was coming.

The morning was cold and windy, and Michael knew towards the mountains it was only going to keep getting worse. But the truck was ready to go, their path on the map traced out, and it was nearly time to leave.

For now, he stood in the little truck stop bathroom, staring at himself in the mirror. His hair was tangled, his face unshaven, and the jacket hung heavily on his shoulders. Bruised and exhausted looking, he fancied there was something heavier in his face. The eyes of a killer? But he didn’t regret what he’d done to Flynt, not even a little bit. 

If anything, he felt more sure of himself.

If anything, it felt like a _turning point._ Maybe before, even if he’d never have admitted it, he’d had a tiny, lingering hope that one day this might be fixed somehow. Now he knew for sure that it wouldn’t, and that he’d do whatever it took to keep his people safe. His shoulder ached, but it was just one more scar, and he fished a blunt razor from his bag and started scraping off his straggly beard. Geoff was right, it didn’t suit him.

_Geoff_.

The thought made an ache pulse through him. He felt like a failure - Gus was gone, Chris and Aaron dead… God knew what the other man would think if he could see Michael now. For a second, cold anxiety flooded over him.

Then there was a rap on the door.

“Michael?” Gavin’s voice called quietly. “Can I come in?”

Michael took a shaky breath and reached to open it. Gavin slunk in, looking him up and down. Michael stared back at him - he looked pale and wan and far too fragile, but after a moment he gave a small smile, and it made Michael’s lips unwillingly twitch upwards. God, he’d never imagined back in that city when he’d punched some idiot Brit who wouldn’t shut up that they’d wind up here.

_Nearly didn’t stay with Geoff because I felt so guilty about it. There’s a thought_.

“I like your new jacket,” Gavin commented, and reached out to poke Michael’s shoulder with one finger. “It suits you more.”  
  
“Your scarf’s gone,” Michael pointed out - he’d been trying to place why Gavin looked different - Gavin clutched at his neck like he hadn’t realised, and suddenly looked a bit vulnerable.

“We’ll find you a new one,” Michael assured him. “You’ll need something warmer as we head south, anyway.”  
  
Gavin nodded. He came up by Michael’s side, shoulder pressing against his.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

“For what?”  
  
“For killing Flynt.” Gavin bit his lip and looked away. “I never would have done it, but that’s just my issue. You’re right that it was right for the group, even if it wasn’t the _good_ thing to do.  I feel… better. Knowing someone like that isn’t out there any more. I’m not perfect, you know. Sometimes I _want_ the wrong thing, I just - wouldn’t do it myself. Maybe that’s cowardly.”  
  
“Not necessarily,” Michael grunted. “It’s okay. You’re welcome.”  
  
“I just wish the rest of the group had gotten out.”

“They sided with the fucker.”

“They were scared and hungry,” Gavin pointed out. “I don’t wholly blame them. I get frustrated with myself too, sometimes.”  
  
Michael didn’t like the heavy note of guilt in his voice. He bumped Gavin’s shoulder with his.

“Yeah, well. I’m hardly perfect myself. You’re not wrong about everything. We’d all be dead without Miles at this point, and you’re the one who trusted him.”  
  
“Guess we both have our moments.” Gavin shot him a small, shy smile, and for a moment Michael stared at the two of them in the mirror, standing side by side. Maybe less two opposites and more two halves of a whole. He shook himself. _Don’t be an idiot._

Gavin hung his head after a moment.

“I miss Dan,” he said, voice thick, “And that’s not gonna stop. When he… that moment when I realised he was _gone_ , I just - it felt impossible to go on. I would have sat there and let Flynt kill me. Sorry I wasn’t much help getting us out of there.”  
  
“It’s okay,” Michael replied softly. “I… I never had a best friend like that. I can’t imagine what I would have done.”  
  
“You and Barb took care of me. I really appreciate it.” He looked up, and met Michael’s eyes. “And I’m not going to give up.”  
  
“Me either,” Michael whispered. The room felt too small, Gavin too close, but he couldn’t look away. It seemed easier to share, suddenly. “I’ve lost too many people. I refuse to lose more. Maybe I’ll die doing it, but - Geoff asked me to take care of them, and I will. _All_ of you. I’m going to keep you safe.”  
  
Gavin smiled.

“Good,” he said, “You’re in charge now.”  
  
It took a second to realise he was serious, and Michael’s heart skipped a beat.

“Gavin-”  
  
“It can’t be me.” Gavin looked pained, but pushed on. “I’ll be by your side every bloody step of the way, and trust me, I fully intend to go all Jiminy Cricket and be your conscience-”

“Oh, God.”  
  
“But it has to be you, Michael. Barbara and I still want to find new people, help as many as we can, but neither of us can make the hard calls like you do. We need someone like that.” He must’ve seen the uncertainty in Michael’s face, because he reached out and squeezed his shoulder. “You won’t be alone, don’t worry. We’re with you every step of the way.”  
  
“Okay,” Michael whispered. It was a heavy responsibility, but… it helped to think of having the others around him. And the way Gavin was looking at him, like he totally _trusted_ him - no one had looked at him like that in a long time, and even after what had happened today he didn’t feel like a killer but like a protector.

“You’re not so bad,” Gavin said, tilting his head, and Michael had to laugh.

"You either, Free,” he grunted.

Gavin smiled and rested his head on Michael’s shoulder; Michael automatically put an arm around his shoulders and hugged him close. The last two days had been hell, but they’d come out the other side. He knew he was going to miss Aaron and his calm smile, and Chris’ enduring loyalty. But all they could do was move forward, try harder, do better.

“It’s gonna be a long, cold road ahead,” Gavin murmured. “Winter will be hard.”

“We got this,” Michael assured him, and really believed it for once. Gavin nodded - he pulled back but held out a hand, and Michael hesitated.

It seemed too affectionate, too close to admitted he cared, and from there too easy to get hurt - but after everything that had happened today, he found he didn’t want to refuse. He took Gavin’s hand and let him pull him outside.

The others were waiting, huddled up against the winter cold. The cars were loaded and ready to go, and Miles grinned at them from where he was leaning against the side of the truck. Edgar and Ellie lingered nearby, tired and pale but alive. And Barbara and Ryan, standing together - it gave Michael a pang to see them, to know they were the only ones left from that first group who’d brought him in.

Barbara smiled when she saw him, and Michael felt a little heartened. The white morning light, the road stretching on ahead, all felt bittersweet. He’d be glad to leave this place and all its memories behind, but at the same time it felt like an ending, and he was sad about the ghosts they were leaving in these woods.

He looked down at his belt, the empty space where the walkie-talkie usually hung, and felt a pang in his chest.

_Where are you, Brown?_

God knew at this point, and it made a lump swell in his throat. But Gavin squeezed his hand, making him look up, and when he turned he met the other man’s green eyes - tired, and a little sad, but they still reminded him of spring. He squeezed back and took a deep breath before stepping forward to the others - to the south, and to the mountains, to leave this place behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the final chapter in this first "series" of episodes.
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who has left comments, participated in the polls, or messaged me on tumblr about this fic. It means the world to me and I have so loved hearing your thoughts on the story! <3
> 
> This first series was intended to be a test to see if the format and tone of the story worked, but I have plans for more that I will hopefully do! It just may take a little while as I like to write the entire next series before I start posting. There'll probably be eight episodes in the next one.
> 
> I'll probably post a compilation of the poll results on my tumblr, @whalehuntingboyfriends, one week from now. Of course, they'll stay open indefinitely for any future readers to participate in!
> 
> Finally, here's a fanmix I made for the story: [8tracks](https://8tracks.com/8ofhearts/pitch-black-world) / [youtube](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I3A1d4A1lvk&list=PLPN8AulG5Dybgrz9bETIQYDsZAkESDKQP) <3


End file.
